No Deeper Wrinkles Yet? Hath Sorrow Struck

Too Early Seen Unknown, And Known Too Late!

I See That The Fashion Wears Out More Apparel Than The Man.

Like As The Waves Make Towards The Pebbl'd Shore, So Do Our Minutes, Hasten To Their End.

All Lovers Swear More Performance Than They Are Able, And Yet Reserve An Ability That They Never Perform; Vowing More Than The Perfection Of Ten, And Discharging Less Than The Tenth Part Of One.

Eternity Was In Our Lips And Eyes, Bliss In Our Brows' Bent; None Our Parts So Poor But Was A Race Of Heaven.