He Is The Half Part Of A

These Are The Forgeries Of Jealousy; And Never, Since The Middle Summer's Spring, Met We On Hill, In Dale, Forest, Or Mead, By Paved Fountain Or By Rushy Brook, Or In The Beached Margent Of The Sea, To Dance Our Ringlets To The Whistling Wind, But With Thy Brawls Thou Hast Disturbed Our Sport.

Love Is Familiar. Love Is A Devil. There Is No Evil Angel But Love." -

That, Sir, Which Serves And Seeks For Gain, And Follows But For Form, Will Pack, When It Begins To Rain, And Leave Thee In A Storm.

A Blind Man Can't Forget The Eyesight He Lost, Show Me Any Beautiful Girl. How Can Her Beauty Not Remind Me Of The One Whose Beauty Surpasses Hers?

What Seest Thou Else In The Dark Backward And Abysm Of Time?