After Your Death You Were Better Have

Unhappy That I Am, I Cannot Heave My Heart Into My Mouth.

Though She Be But Little, She Is Fierce!

Oh, How This Spring Of Love Resembleth, The Uncertain Glory Of An April Day, Which Now Shows All Beauty Of The Sun, And By And By A Cloud Takes All Away

Come, Let's Have One Other Gaudy Night. Call To Me All My Sad Captains. Fill Our Bowls Once More. Let's Mock The Midnight Bell.

She Speaks Poniards, And Every Word Stabs.