For Trust Not Him That Hath Once

I Take Thee At Thy Word: Call Me But Love, And I'll Be New Baptized; Henceforth I Never Will Be Romeo.

I Can No Longer Live By Thinking.

Thou Mak'st Me Merry: I Am Full Of Pleasure; Let Us Be Jocund

The Setting Sun, And The Music At The Close, As The Last Taste Of Sweets, Is Sweetest Last, Writ In Rememberance More Than Long Things Past.

How Much An Ill Word May Empoison Liking!