A Sad Tale's Best For Winter. I

The Silence Often Of Pure Innocence Persuades When Speaking Fails.

No Longer Mourn For Me When I Am Dead Than You Shall Hear The Surly Sullen Bell Give Warning To The World That I Am Fled From This Vile World, With Vilest Worms To Dwell.

Madam, You Have Bereft Me Of All Words, Only My Blood Speaks To You In My Veins.

This Is A Gift That I Have, Simple, Simple; A Foolish Extravagant Spirit Full Of Forms, Figures, Shapes, Objects, Ideas, Apprehensions, Motions, Revolutions; These Are Begot In The Ventricle Of Memory, Nourished In The Womb Of Pia Mater, And Delivered Upon The Mellowing Of Occasion.

I Will Not Be Sworn But Love May Transform Me To An Oyster