I Have Seen Roses Damask'd, Red And

Ten Masts Make Not The Altitude Which Thou Hast Perpendicularly Fell. Thy Life's A Miracle.

What If This Cursed Hand Were Thicker Than Itself With Brother's Blood Is There Not Rain Enough In The Sweet Heaves To Wash It White As Snow?

Our Doubts Are Traitors And Make Us Lose The Good We Oft Might Win By Fearing To Attempt.

Such Tricks Hath Strong Imagination, That, If It Would But Apprehend Some Joy, It Comprehends Some Bringer Of That Joy; Or In The Night, Imagining Some Fear, How Easy Is A Bush Supposed A Bear!

What's Done Cannot Be Undone. To Bed, To Bed, To Bed.