False Face Must Hide What The False

Stones Have Been Known To Move And Trees To Speak.

Past All Shame, So Past All Truth.

Speak Comfortable Words.

She's Gone. I Am Abused, And My Relief Must Be To Loathe Her.

Fondling,' She Saith, 'since I Have Hemm'd Thee Here Within The Circuit Of This Ivory Pale, I'll Be A Park, And Thou Shalt Be My Deer; Feed Where Thou Wilt, On Mountain Or In Dale: Graze On My Lips, And If Those Hills Be Dry, Stray Lower, Where The Pleasant Fountains Lie.