My Love Is Thine To Teach; Teach

I Like This Place And Could Willingly Waste My Time In It.

Have More Than You Show, Speak Less Than You Know.

For In That Sleep Of Death What Dreams May Come.

Look What Thy Soul Holds Dear, Imagine It To Lie That Way Thou Goest, Not Whence Thou Com'st. Suppose The Singing Birds Musicians, The Grass Whereon Thou Tread'st The Presence Strewed, The Flowers Fair Ladies, And Thy Steps No More Than A Delight Measure Or A Dance; For Gnarling Sorrow Hath Less Power To Bite The Man That Mocks At It And Sets It Light.

Your Gentleness Shall Force More Than Your Force Move Us To Gentleness.