A High Hope For A Low Heaven:

It Hurts Not The Tongue To Give Fair Words.

Is This A Vision? Is This A Dream? Do I Sleep?

I Love You With So Much Of My Heart That None Is Left To Protest.

To Bed, To Bed; Sleep Kill Those Pretty Eyes, And Give As Soft Attachment To Thy Senses, As Infants Empty Of All Thought.

What Is Thy Sentence Then But Speechless Death.