And Dare Love That, And Say So

Sleep Is Pain's Easiest Salve, And Doth Fulfil All Offices Of Death, Except To Kill.

All Our Life Is But A Going Out To The Place Of Execution, To Death.

Commemoration Of John Donne, Priest, Poet, 1631 He Was The Word That Spake It; He Took The Bread And Brake It; And What That Word Did Make It I Do Believe, And Take It.

'tis The Year's Midnight, And It Is The Day's.

How Imperfect Is All Our Knowledge!