You Are Not Wood, You Are Not

Look On Beauty, And You Shall See 'tis Purchased By The Weight.

Now, Infidel, I Have You On The Hip!

This Music Crept By Me Upon The Waters, Allaying Both Their Fury And My Passion With Its Sweet Air: Thence I Have Follow’d It.

What My Tongue Dares Not That My Heart Shall Say

Who Are The Violets Now That Strew The Lap Of The New-come Spring?