Despair Is The Damp Of

Yet Nothing Can To Nothing Fall, Nor Any Place Be Empty Quite; Therefore I Think My Breast Hath All Those Pieces Still, Though They Be Not Unite; And Now, As Broken Glasses Show A Hundred Lesser Faces, So My Rags Of Heart Can Like, Wish, And Adore, But After One Such Love, Can Love No More.

Nothing But Man Of All Envenomed Things, Doth Work Upon Itself, With Inborn Stings.

Oh Do Not Die, For I Shall Hate All Women So, When Thou Art Gone.

My Face In Thine Eye, Thine In Mine Appears, And True Plain Hearts Do In The Faces Rest; Where Can We Find Two Better Hemispheres, Without Sharp North, Without Declining West? Whatever Dies, Was Not Mix'd Equally; If Our Two Loves Be One, Or, Thou And I Love So Alike, That None Do Slacken, None Can Die.

God Is So Omnipresent. . . . God Is An Angel In An Angel, And A Stone In A Stone, And A Straw In A Straw.