Divers Philosophers Hold That The Lips Is

How Many Fond Fools Serve Mad Jealousy!

No, I Will Be The Pattern Of All Patience; I Will Say Nothing.

Sleep, That Sometimes Shuts Up Sorrow's Eye.

Light, Seeking Light, Doth Light Of Light Beguile

How Sweet The Moonlight Sleeps Upon This Bank Here We Will Sit, And Let The Sounds Of Music Creep In Our Ears; Soft Stillness, And The Night Become The Touches Of Sweet Harmony