My Crown Is In My Heart, Not

Their Lips Were Four Red Roses On A Stalk.

Coal-black Is Better Than Another Hue In That It Scorns To Bear Another Hue; For All The Water In The Ocean Can Never Turn The Swan's Black Legs To White, Although She Lave Them Hourly In The Flood.

Few Love To Hear The Sins They Love To Act.

I Am Thy Father's Spirit; Doom'd For A Certain Term To Walk The Night And, For The Day, Confin'd To Fast In Fires, Till The Foul Crimes, Done In My Days Of Nature, Are Burnt And Purg'd Away.

Sound Trumpets! Let Our Bloody Colours Wave! And Either Victory, Or Else A Grave.