Like Will To Like, Each Creature Loves

Here A Little Child I Stand, Heaving Up My Either Hand; Cold As Paddocks Though They Be, Here I Lift Them Up To Thee, For A Benison To Fall On Our Meat, And On Us All. Amen.

When A Daffadill I See, Hanging Down His Head Towards Me, Guess I May, What I Must Be: First, I Shall Decline My Head; Secondly, I Shall Be Dead: Lastly, Safely Buryed.

Gather Ye Rose-buds While Ye May, Old Time Is Still A Flying: And This Same Flower That Smiles To Day, Tomorrow Will Be Dying.

So When Or You Or I Are Made A Fable, Song, Or Fleeting Shade; All Love, All Liking, All Delight Lies Drowned With Us In Endless Night. Then While Time Serves, And We Are But Decaying; Come, My Corinna, Come, Let's Go A Maying.

It Is The End That Crowns Us, Not The Fight.