I'll Make My Heaven In A Lady's

Why Then, O Brawling Love! O Loving Hate! O Any Thing, Of Nothing First Create! O Heavy Lightness, Serious Vanity, Misshapen Chaos Of Well-seeming Forms, Feather Of Lead, Bright Smoke, Cold Fire, Sick Health, Still-waking Sleep, That Is Not What It Is! This Love Feel I, That Feel No Love In This.

Men Should Be What They Seem; Or Those That Be Not, Would They Might Seem None!.

The Art Of Our Necessities Is Strange That Can Make Vile Things Precious.

Love Is Too Young To Know What Conscience Is.

O Death, Made Proud With Pure And Princely Beauty!