My Heart Is Ever At Your Service.

Tis In Ourselves That We Are Thus Or Thus. Our Bodies Are Our Gardens To The Which Our Wills Are Gardeners.

Is It Thy Will, Thy Image Should Keep Open My Heavy Eyelids To The Weary Night? Dost Thou Desire My Slumbers Should Be Broken, While Shadows Like To Thee Do Mock My Sight? Is It Thy Spirit That Thou Send'st From Thee So Far From Home Into My Deeds To Pry, To Find Out Shames And Idle Hours In Me, The Scope And Tenor Of Thy Jealousy? O, No! Thy Love, Though Much, Is Not So Great: It Is My Love That Keeps Mine Eye Awake: Mine Own True Love That Doth My Rest Defeat, To Play The Watchman Ever For Thy Sake: For Thee Watch I, Whilst Thou Dost Wake Elsewhere, From Me Far Off, With Others All Too Near.

And Since You Know You Cannot See Yourself, So Well As By Reflection, I, Your Glass, Will Modestly Discover To Yourself, That Of Yourself Which You Yet Know Not Of.

All Days Are Nights To See Till I See Thee, And Nights Bright Days When Dreams Do Show Thee Me.

How Hard It Is To Hide The Sparks Of Nature!