The Morning Steals Upon The Night, Melting

Thou Hast Nor Youth Nor Age But As It Were An After Dinner Sleep Dreaming Of Both.

Lovers Can Do Their Amorous Rites By Their Own Beauties

What Is Aught But As 'tis Valued?

O, Grief Hath Changed Me Since You Saw Me Last, And Careful Hours With Time's Deformed Hand Have Written Strange Defeatures In My Face. But Tell Me Yet, Dost Thou Not Know My Voice?

To Gild Refined Gold, To Paint The Lily... Is Wasteful And Ridiculous Excess