O How Feeble Is Man's Power, That

When I Died Last, And, Dear, I Die As Often As From Thee I Go Though It Be But An Hour Ago, And Lovers' Hours Be Full Eternity.

Then Love Is Sin, And Let Me Sinful Be.

And New Philosophy Calls All In Doubt, The Element Of Fire Is Quite Put Out; The Sun Is Lost, And The Earth, And No Mans Wit Can Well Direct Him Where To Look For It.

Kind Pity Chokes My Spleen.

If Poisonous Minerals, And If That Tree, Whose Fruit Threw Death On Else Immortal Us, If Lecherous Goats, If Serpents Envious Cannot Be Damned; Alas; Why Should I Be?