Art Made Tongue-tied By Authority.

Remembrance Of Things Past.

Her Blood Is Settled, And Her Joints Are Stiff; Life And These Lips Have Long Been Separated: Death Lies On Her Like An Untimely Frost Upon The Sweetest Flower Of All The Field.

My Love Is Deep; The More I Give To Thee, The More I Have, Both Are Infinite.

Canst Thou, O Partial Sleep, Give Thy Repose To The Wet Sea-boy In An Hour So Rude, And In The Calmest And Most Stillest Night, With All Appliances And Means To Boot, Deny It To A King?

I'll Break My Staff, Bury It Certain Fathoms In The Earth, And Deeper Than Did Ever Plummet Sound, I'll Drown My Book!