More Than Kisses, Letters Mingle Souls.

Love Built On Beauty, Soon As Beauty, Dies.

Verse Hath A Middle Nature: Heaven Keeps Souls, The Grave Keeps Bodies, Verse The Fame Enrols.

That Thou Remember Them, Some Claim As Debt; I Think It Mercy, If Thou Wilt Forget.

Yet Nothing Can To Nothing Fall, Nor Any Place Be Empty Quite; Therefore I Think My Breast Hath All Those Pieces Still, Though They Be Not Unite; And Now, As Broken Glasses Show A Hundred Lesser Faces, So My Rags Of Heart Can Like, Wish, And Adore, But After One Such Love, Can Love No More.

Be More Than Man, Or Thou'rt Less Than An Ant.