The Sun With One Eye Vieweth All

There Is A Kind Of Character In Thy Life, That To The Observer Doth Thy History, Fully Unfold.

Tis In Ourselves That We Are Thus, Or Thus.

What A Piece Of Work Is A Man

Blind Is His Love, And Best Befits The Dark.

It Is Not Night When I Do See Your Face, Therefore I Think I Am Not In The Night; Nor Doth This Wood Lack Worlds Of Company, For You In My Respect Are All The World: Then How Can It Be Said I Am Alone, When All The World Is Here To Look On Me?