Is It Not Strange That Desire Should

I Have Sounded The Very Base-string Of Humility.

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.

Thou Shouldst Not Have Been Old Till Thou Hadst Been Wise.

I Do Repent; But Heaven Hath Pleas'd It So To Punish Me With This, And This With Me, That I Must Be Their Scourge And Minister. I Will Bestow Him, And Will Answer Well The Death I Gave Him. So Again Good Night. I Must Be Cruel Only To Be Kind. Thus Bad Begins And Worse Remains Behind.

O Prosperina, For The Flowers Now That, Frighted, Thou Let'st Fall From Dis's Wagon; Daffodils, That Come Before The Swallow Dares, And Take The Winds Of March With Beauty; Violets Dim, But Sweeter Than The Lids Of Juno's Eyes Or Cytherea's Breath; Pale Primroses, That Die Unmarried, Ere They Can Behold Bright Phoebus In His Strength--a Malady Most Incident To Maids; Bold Oxlips And The Crown Imperial; Lilies Of All Kinds, The Flower-de-luce Being One.