Out, Out, Brief Candle! Life's But A

I Pray Thee Cease Thy Counsel, Which Falls Into Mine Ears As Profitless As Water In A Sieve.

The Blood Weeps From My Heart When I Do Shape, In Forms Imaginary, Th' Unguided Days And Rotten Times That You Shall Look Upon When I Am Sleeping With My Ancestors.

Why Then, O Brawling Love! O Loving Hate! O Any Thing, Of Nothing First Create! O Heavy Lightness, Serious Vanity, Misshapen Chaos Of Well-seeming Forms, Feather Of Lead, Bright Smoke, Cold Fire, Sick Health, Still-waking Sleep, That Is Not What It Is! This Love Feel I, That Feel No Love In This.

He's All My Exercise, My Mirth, My Matter.

For Sweetest Things Turn Sourest By Their Deeds; Lillies That Fester Smell Far Worse Than Weeds.