It Is Silliness To Live When To

He Is The Most Wretched Of Men Who Has Never Felt Adversity.

My Hands Are Of Your Color, But I Shame To Wear A Heart So White.

O That My Tongue Were In The Thunder's Mouth! Then With Passion Would I Shake The World, And Rouse From Sleep That Fell Anatomy Which Cannot Hear A Lady's Feeble Voice, Which Scorns A Modern Invocation.

His Steeds To Water At Those Springs On Chaliced Flowers That Lies; And Winking Mary-buds Begin To Ope Their Golden Eyes: With Every Thing That Pretty Is, My Lady Sweet, Arise.

Fire That's Closest Kept Burns Most Of All.