Nature, As It Grows Again Toward Earth,

Cheerily To Sea; The Signs Of War Advance: No King Of England, If Not King Of France

Give Me My Robe, Put On My Crown; I Have Immortal Longings In Me.

Speak The Speech, I Pray You, As I Pronounce It To You, Trippingly On The Tongue; But If You Mouth It, As Many Of Your Players Do, I Had As Lief The Town-crier Spoke My Lines.

Go To You Bosom: Knock There, And Ask Your Heart What It Doth Know.

Eternity Was In Our Lips And Eyes, Bliss In Our Brows' Bent; None Our Parts So Poor But Was A Race Of Heaven.