There's A Time For All Things.

My Long Sickness Of Health And Living Now Begins To Mend, And Nothing Brings Me All Things.

I Am Not In The Giving Vein Today.

A Hand As Fruitful As The Land That Feeds Us; His Dew Falls Everywhere.

You Are My True And Honourable Wife; As Dear To Me As The Ruddy Drops That Visit My Sad Heart.

O, How Shall Summer's Honey Breath Hold Out Against The Wreckful Siege Of Battering Days, When Rocks Impregnable Are Not So Stout, Nor Gates Of Steel So Strong, But Time Decays?