Evermore Thanks, The Exchequer Of The Poor

And Makes Me Poor Indeed.

Here Feel We But The Penalty Of Adam, The Seasons' Difference, As The Icy Fang And Churlish Chiding Of The Winter's Wind, Which, When It Bites And Blows Upon My Body, Even Till I Shrink With Cold, I Smile.

Death Is A Fearful Thing.

If Thou Dost Love, Proclaim It Faithfully.

O, Wonder! How Many Goodly Creatures Are There Here! How Beauteous Mankind Is! O Brave New World, That Has Such People In't!