Let Man's Soul Be A Sphere, And

All Kings, And All Their Favorites, All Glory Of Honors, Beauties, Wits, The Sun Itself, Which Makes Times, As They Pass, Is Elder By A Year, Now, Than It Was When Thou And I First One Another Saw: All Other Things, To Their Destruction Draw, Only Our Love Hath No Decay; This, No Tomorrow Hash, Nor Yesterday, Running, It Never Runs From Us Away, But Truly Keeps His First, Last, Everlasting Day.

Our Critical Day Is Not The Very Day Of Our Death; But The Whole Course Of Our Life.

Only Our Love Hath No Decay; This, No Tomorrow Hath, Nor Yesterday, Running It Never Runs From Us Away, But Truly Keeps His First, Last, Everlasting Day.

Doth Not A Man Die Even In His Birth? The Breaking Of Prison Is Death, And What Is Our Birth, But A Breaking Of Prison?

Who Knows His Virtues Name Or Place, Hath None.