Death Hath A Thousand Doors To Let

Ill News Are Swallow-winged, But What Is Good Walks On Crutches.

Though The Desire Of Fame Be The Last Weakness Wise Men Put Off.

A Willing Mind Makes A Hard Journey Easy.

Shall This Nectar Run Useless, Then, To Waste? Or ... These Lips, That Open Like The Morn, Breathing Perfumes, On Such As Dare Approach Them, Be Untouch'd? They Must--nay, 'tis In Vain To Make Resistance-- Be Often Kissed And Tasted.

Nay, Droop Not, Fellows; Innocence Should Be Bold.