He Kills Her In Her Own Humor.

I Am As Vigilant As A Cat To Steal Cream.

Grief Fills The Room Up Of My Absent Child, Lies In His Bed, Walks Up And Down With Me, Puts On His Pretty Look, Repeats His Words, Remembers Me Of His Gracious Parts, Stuffs Out His Vacant Garments With His Form

All The Contagion Of The South Light On You, You Shames Of Rome! You Herd Of--boils And Plagues Plaster You O'er; That You May Be Abhorr'd Further Than Seen, And One Infect Another Against The Wind A Mile!

Dost Thou Love Hawking? Thou Hast Hawks Will Soar Above The Morning Lark.

Give Me My Robe, Put On My Crown; I Have Immortal Longings In Me.