Oh, Flatter Me; For Love Delights In

If Chance Will Have Me King, Why, Chance May Crown Me.

The Eyes Are The Window To Your Soul

Time, That Takes Survey Of All The World, Must Have A Stop.

You Have But Mistook Me All The While... I Live By Bread Like You, Taste Grief, Feel Want, Need Friends. Conditioned Thus How Can You Call Me King?

Oh God! That One Might Read The Book Of Fate, And See The Revolution Of The Times Make Mountains Level, And The Continent, Weary Of Solid Firmness, Melt Itself Into The Sea.