I Am A Feather For Each Wind

Some Say That Ever 'gainst The Season Comes Wherein Our Saviour's Birth Is Celebrated, The Bird Of Dawning Singeth All Night Long: And Then, They Say, No Spirit Can Walk Abroad; The Nights Are Wholesome; Then No Planets Strike, No Fairy Takes, Nor Wi

I Thought My Heart Had Been Wounded With The Claws Of A Lion.

The Horn, The Horn, The Lusty Horn Is Not A Thing To Laugh To Scorn.

Being Daily Swallowed By Men's Eyes, They Surfeited With Honey And Began To Loathe The Taste Of Sweetness, Whereof A Little More Than A Little Is By Much Too Much. So, When He Had Occasion To Be Seen, He Was But As The Cuckoo Is In June. Heard, Not Regarded.

Alas, Our Frailty Is The Cause , Not We! For, Such As We Are Made Of, Such We Be.