Now My Charms Are All O'erthrown.

For Now I Stand As One Upon A Rock Environed With A Wilderness Of Sea, Who Marks The Waxing Tide Grow Wave By Wave, Expecting Ever When Some Envious Surge Will In His Brinish Bowels Swallow Him.

How Sweet The Moonlight Sleeps Upon This Bank Here We Will Sit, And Let The Sounds Of Music Creep In Our Ears; Soft Stillness, And The Night Become The Touches Of Sweet Harmony

Look What Thy Soul Holds Dear, Imagine It To Lie That Way Thou Goest, Not Whence Thou Com'st. Suppose The Singing Birds Musicians, The Grass Whereon Thou Tread'st The Presence Strewed, The Flowers Fair Ladies, And Thy Steps No More Than A Delight Measure Or A Dance; For Gnarling Sorrow Hath Less Power To Bite The Man That Mocks At It And Sets It Light.

Yet This My Comfort: When Your Words Are Done, My Woes End Likewise With The Evening Sun.

You Have Dancing Shoes With Nimble Soles. I Have A Soul Of Lead.