Tis The Eye Of Childhood That Fears

Say, Thou Art Mine; And Ever, My Love, As It Begins, Shall So Persevere

What Is Your Substance, Whereof Are You Made, That Millions Of Strange Shadows On You Tend? Since Everyone Hath Every One, One Shade, And You, But One, Can Every Shadow Lend. Describe Adonis, And The Counterfeit Is Poorly Imitated After You. On Helen’s Cheek All Art Of Beauty Set, And You In Grecian Tires Are Painted New. Speak Of The Spring And Foison Of The Year; The One Doth Shadow Of Your Beauty Show, The Other As Your Bounty Doth Appear, And You In Every Blessèd Shape We Know. In All External Grace You Have Some Part, But You Like None, None You, For Constant Heart.

The Clock Upbraids Me With The Waste Of Time.

People’s Good Deeds We Write In Water. The Evil Deeds Are Etched In Brass.

Virtue That Transgresses Is But Patched With Sin; And Sin That Amends Is But Patched With Virtue.