This Look Of Thine Will Hurl My

I Never Yet Did Hear, That The Bruis'd Heart Was Pierced Through The Ear

Who Buys A Minute's Mirth To Wail A Week? Or Sell Eternity To Get A Toy? For One Grape Who Will The Vine Destroy?

All Pity Choked With Custom Of Fell Deeds.

The Expedition Of My Violent Love Outrun The Pauser, Reason.

That Strain Again! It Had A Dying Fall: O, It Came O'er My Ear Like The Sweet Sound That Breathes Upon A Bank Of Violets, Stealing And Giving Odour! Enough; No More: 'tis Not So Sweet As It Was Before.