My Long Sickness Of Health And Living

Come The Three Corners Of The World In Arms, And We Shall Shock Them.

Yon Grey Lines That Fret The Clouds Are Messengers Of Day.

Tis A Blushing Shame-faced Spirit That Mutinies In A Man's Bosom. It Fills A Man Full Of Obstacles. It Made Me Once Restore A Purse Of Gold That (by Chance) I Found. It Beggars Any Man That Keeps It.

Before, I Loved Thee As A Brother, John, But Now, I Do Respect Thee As My Soul.

My Prophecy Is But Half His Journey Yet, For Yonder Walls, That Pertly Front Your Town, Yon Towers, Whose Wanton Tops Do Buss The Clouds, Must Kiss Their Own Feet.