A Ministering Angel Shall My Sister Be.

The Seasons Alter: Hoary-headed Frosts Fall In The Fresh Lap Of The Crimson Rose, And On Old Hiems' Thin And Icy Crown An Odorous Chaplet Of Sweet Summer Buds Is, As In Mockery, Set. The Spring, The Summer, The Childing Autumn, Angry Winter, Change Their Wonted Liveries, And The Mazed World, By Their Increase, Now Knows Not Which Is Which.

Then Will I Raise Aloft The Milk-white Rose. For Whose Sweet Smell The Air Shall Be Perfumed.

We Will Have Rings And Things And Fine Array

Love's Not Love When It Is Mingled With Regards That Stand Aloof From Th' Entire Point.

Why, Universal Plodding Poisons Up The Nimble Spirits In The Arteries, As Motion And Long-during Action Tires The Sinewy Vigor Of The Traveller.