Speak Comfortable Words.

Words Are Grown So False, I Am Loath To Prove Reason With Them.

Now Entertain Conjecture Of A Time When Creeping Murmur And The Poring Dark Fills The Wide Vessel Of The Universe.

A Man Can Die But Once.

It Is The Purpose That Makes Strong The Vow; But Vows To Every Purpose Must Not Hold.

The Brightness Of Her Cheek Would Shame Those Stars As Daylight Doth A Lamp; Her Eyes In Heaven Would Through The Airy Region Stream So Bright That Birds Would Sing, And Think It Were Not Night.