Stones Have Been Known To Move And

Our Content Is Our Best Having.

This Rough Magic I Here Abjure And When I Have Required Some Heavenly Music, Which Even Now I Do, To Work Mine End Upon Their Senses That This Airy Charm Is For, I'll Break My Staff, Bury It Certain Fathoms In The Earth, And Deeper Than Did Ever Plummet Sound, I'll Drown My Book.

Here I And Sorrows Sit; Here Is My Throne, Bid Kings Come Bow To It.

As Full Of Spirit As The Month Of May, And As Gorgeous As The Sun In Midsummer.

That Affable Familiar Ghost Which Nightly Gulls Him With Intelligence.