Honesty Needs No Pains To Set Itself

'tis Now The Summer Of Your Youth: Time Has Not Cropped The Roses From Your Cheek, Though Sorrow Long Has Washed Them.

Other Men It Is Said Have Seen Angels, But I Have Seen Thee And Thou Art Enough.

But From The Hoop's Bewitching Round, Her Very Shoe Has Power To Wound.

The Hours I Spend With You I Look Upon As Sort Of A Perfumed Garden, A Dim Twilight, And A Fountain Singing To It. You And You Alone Make Me Feel That I Am Alive. Other Men It Is Said Have Seen Angels, But I Have Seen Thee And Thou Art Enough.

Can't I Another's Face Commend, Or To Her Virtues Be A Friend, But Instantly Your Forehead Louers, As If Her Merit Lessen'd Yours?