Love Built On Beauty, Soon As Beauty,

Death Is An Ascension To A Better Library.

A Bride, Before A "good-night" Could Be Said, Should Vanish From Her Clothes Into Her Bed, As Souls From Bodies Steal, And Are Not Spied. But Now She's Laid; What Though She Be? Yet There Are More Delays, For Where Is He? He Comes And Passeth Through Sphere After Sphere; First Her Sheets, Then Her Arms, Then Anywhere. Let Not This Day, Then, But This Night Be Thine; Thy Day Was But The Eve To This, O Valentine.

Only Our Love Hath No Decay; This, No Tomorrow Hath, Nor Yesterday, Running It Never Runs From Us Away, But Truly Keeps His First, Last, Everlasting Day.

Whoever Loves, If He Do Not Propose The Right True End Of Love, He's One That Goes To Sea For Nothing But To Make Him Sick.

Pleasure Is None, If Not Diversified.