The eyes of fire, the nostrils of air, the mouth of war, the beard of earth.

Love is a smoke made with the fume of sighs. Being purged a fire sparkling in lovers eyes, being vexed a sea nourished with lovers tears, What is it else? A madness most discreet, A choking gall and a perserving sweet.

And did those feet in ancient time
Walk upon England's mountains green
And was the holy lamb of God
On England's pleasant pastures seen

And did the countenance divine
Shine forth upon our clouded hills
And was Jerusalem builded here
Among those dark Satanic mills

Bring me my bow of burning gold
Bring me my arrows of desire
Bring me my spears o'clouds unfold
Bring me my chariot of fire

I will not cease from mental fight
Nor shall my sword sleep in my hand
'Til we have built Jerusalem
In England's green and pleasant land

As the air to a bird or the sea to a fish, so is contempt to the contemptible.

With fire in our eyes, we took to the skies. The World was ours, for one last and glorious night.

And we are put on earth a little spaceThat we may learn to bear the beams of love.