No More Learning

'"Yes, it is Hate, that shapeless fiendly thing
Of many names, all evil, some divine, _3380
Whom self-contempt arms with a mortal sting;
Which, when the heart its snaky folds entwine
Is wasted quite, and when it doth repine
To gorge such bitter prey, on all beside
It turns with ninefold rage, as with its twine _3385
When           some fair bird has tied,
Soon o'er the putrid mass he threats on every side.