And Blind Oblivion Swallowed Cities Up.

The Will Of Man Is By His Reason Sway'd.

Well-apparel'd April On The Heel Of Limping Winter Treads.

Hope Is A Lover's Staff; Walk Hence With That And Manage It Against Despairing Thoughts.

Men Must Endure Their Going Hence, Even As Their Coming Hither. Ripeness Is All.

Madam, You Have Bereft Me Of All Words, Only My Blood Speaks To You In My Veins.