I...kisss The Tender Inward Of Thy Hand.

O Sleep, O Gentle Sleep, Nature's Soft Nurse, How Have I Frightened Thee, 1710. That Thou No More Will Weigh My Eyelids Down, And Steep My Senses In Forgetfulness?

When I Said I Would Die A Bachelor, I Did Not Think I Should Live Till I Were Married.

My Grief Lies All Within, And These External Manners Of Lament Are Merely Shadows To The Unseen Grief That Swells With Silence In The Tortured Soul.

There Are Occasions And Causes, Why And Wherefore In All Things.

There's Some Ill Planet Reigns: I Must Be Patient Till The Heavens Look With An Aspect More Favourable.