Send Home My Long Strayed Eyes To

No Spring Nor Summer Beauty Hath Such Grace As I Have Seen In One Autumnal Face.

I Shall Die Reading; Since My Book And A Grave Are So Near.

What Gnashing Is Not A Comfort, What Gnawing Of The Worm Is Not A Tickling, What Torment Is Not A Marriage Bed To This Damnation, To Be Secluded Eternally, Eternally, Eternally From The Sight Of God?

Who Are A Little Wise The Best Fools Be.

Let Not Thy Divining Heart Forethink Me Any Ill; Destiny May Take Thy Part, And May Thy Fears Fulfill.