So Quick Bright Things Come To Confusion.​​​​​​

O' What May Man Within Him Hide, Though Angel On The Outward Side!

Holy, Fair, And Wise Is She; The Heaven Such Grace Did Lend Her, That She Might Admired Be.

Stars, Hide Your Fires; Let Not Light See My Black And Deep Desires.

The Seeming Truth Which Cunning Times Put On To Entrap The Wisest.

My Thoughts Are Whirled Like A Potter's Wheel; I Know Not Where I Am Nor What I Do.