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

Now 'tis Spring, And Weeds Are Shallow-rooted; Suffer Them Now And They'll O'ergrow The Garden.

Beauty Within Itself Should Not Be Wasted.

But I Will Wear My Heart Upon My Sleeve For Daws To Peck At: I Am Not What I Am.

I'll Look To Like; If Looking, Liking Move.

I Cannot But Remember Such Things Were That Were Most Precious To Me.