They That Stand High Have Many Blasts

My Heart Laments That Virtue Cannot Live Out Of The Teeth Of Emulation.

I Sat Upon A Promontory, And Heard A Mermaid, On A Dolphin's Back, Uttering Such Dulcet And Harmonious Breath, That The Rude Sea Grew Civil At Her Song; And Certain Stars Shot Madly From Their Spheres, To Hear The Sea-maid's Music.

He Wears The Rose Of Youth Upon Him.

Eternity Was In Our Lips And Eyes, Bliss In Our Brows' Bent; None Our Parts So Poor But Was A Race Of Heaven.

What My Tongue Dares Not That My Heart Shall Say