When One Man Dies, One

On A Huge Hill, Cragged, And Steep, Truth Stands, And Hee That Will Reach Her, About Must, And About Must Goo.

Men Are Sponges, Which, To Pour Out, Receive; Who Know False Play, Rather Than Lose, Deceive. For In Best Understandings Sin Began, Angels Sinn'd First, Then Devils, And Then Man. Only Perchance Beasts Sin Not ; Wretched We Are Beasts In All But White Integrity.

Yesternight The Sun Went Hence, And Yet Is Here Today.

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

No Spring Nor Summer Beauty Hath Such Grace As I Have Seen In One Autumnal Face.