How Imperfect Is All Our

I Long To Talk With Some Old Lover's Ghost, Who Died Before The God Of Love Was Born.

A Man That Is Not Afraid Of A Lion Is Afraid Of A Cat .

And When A Whirl-winde Hath Blowne The Dust Of The Churchyard Into The Church, And Man Sweeps Out The Dust Of The Church Into The Church-yard, Who Will Undertake To Sift Those Dusts Again, And To Pronounce, This Is The Patrician, This Is The Noble Flower, And This The Yeomanly, This The Plebian Bran.

And To 'scape Stormy Days, I Choose An Everlasting Night.

What If This Present Were The World's Last Night?