Death Had His Grudge Against Me, And

Man Has Not A Greater Enemy Than Himself.

Go, Grieving Rimes Of Mine, To That Hard Stone Whereunder Lies My Darling, Lies My Dear, And Cry To Her To Speak From Heaven's Sphere.

Often Have I Wondered With Much Curiosity As To Our Coming Into This World And What Will Follow Our Departure.

He Loves But Lightly Who His Love Can Tell.

What Name To Call Thee By, O Virgin Fair, I Know Not, For Thy Looks Are Not Of Earth And More Than Mortal Seems Thy Countenances