Omittance Is No Quittance.

Truth Needs No Color; Beauty, No Pencil.

Why, Universal Plodding Poisons Up The Nimble Spirits In The Arteries, As Motion And Long-during Action Tires The Sinewy Vigor Of The Traveller.

Oh, Flatter Me; For Love Delights In Praises.

Mine Eyes Were Not In Fault, For She Was Beautiful; Mine Ears, That Heard Her Flattery; Nor My Heart, That Thought Her Like Her Seeming. It Had Been Vicious To Have Mistrusted Her.

The Brightness Of Her Cheek Would Shame Those Stars As Daylight Doth A Lamp; Her Eyes In Heaven Would Through The Airy Region Stream So Bright That Birds Would Sing, And Think It Were Not Night.