Though Death Be Poor, It Ends A

By Heaven, My Soul Is Purg'd From Grudging Hate; And With My Hand I Seal My True Heart's Love

The Big Round Tears Cours'd One Another Down His Innocent Nose, In Piteous Chase.

Full Oft We See Cold Wisdom Waiting On Superfluous Folly.

O Comfort-killing Night, Image Of Hell, Dim Register And Notary Of Shame, Black Stage For Tragedies And Murders Fell, Vast Sin-concealing Chaos, Nurse Of Blame!

Canst Thou, O Partial Sleep, Give Thy Repose To The Wet Sea-boy In An Hour So Rude, And In The Calmest And Most Stillest Night, With All Appliances And Means To Boot, Deny It To A King?