When Once Our Grace We Have Forgot,

Within The Hollow Crown That Rounds The Mortal Temples Of A King Keeps Death His Court.

A Smile Cures The Wounding Of A Frown.

I Like Not Fair Terms And A Villain's Mind.

To Unpathed Waters, Undreamed Shores.

But Earthlier Happy Is The Rose Distill'd Than That Which Withering On The Virgin Thorn Grows, Lives, And Dies In Single Blessedness.