O, Swear Not By The Moon, The

Then Was I As A Tree Whose Boughs Did Bend With Fruit; But In One Night, A Storm Or Robbery, Call It What You Will, Shook Down My Mellow Hangings, Nay, My Leaves, And Left Me Bare To Weather.

Where Love Is Great, The Littlest Doubts Are Fear; Where Little Fears Grow Great, Great Love Grows There.

Is It Possible He Should Know What He Is, And Be That He Is?

When That Churl Death My Bones With Dust Shall Cover.

Lady, You Know No Rules Of Charity, Which Renders Good For Bad, Blessings For Curses.