Tears Such As Angels Weep.

Taste This, And Be Henceforth Among The Gods Thyself A Goddess.

These Eyes, Tho' Clear To Outward View Of Blemish Or Of Spot, Bereft Of Light, Their Seeing Have Forgot, Nor To Their Idle Orbs Doth Sight Appear Of Sun, Or Moon, Or Star, Throughout The Year, Or Man, Or Woman. Yet I Argue Not Against Heaven's Hand Or Will, Not Bate A Jot Of Heart Or Hope; But Still Bear Up And Steer Right Onward.

What Is Dark Within Me, Illumine.

Sweet Is The Breath Of Morn, Her Rising Sweet, With Charm Of Earliest Birds.

Herbs, And Other Country Messes, Which The Neat-handed Phillis Dresses.