Tis The Mind That Makes The Body

Lords, I Protest My Soul Is Full Of Woe That Blood Should Sprinkle Me To Make Me Grow. Come, Mourn With Me For What I Do Lament, And Put Sullen Black Incontinent. I'll Make A Voyage To The Holy Land To Wash This Blood Off From My Guilty Hand. March Sadly After. Grace My Mournings Here In Weeping After This Untimely Bier.

Tis The Mind That Makes The Body Rich.

We Are Such Stuff As Dreams Are Made On; And Our Little Life Is Rounded With A Sleep.

But Love Is Blind And Lovers Cannot See

And Teach Me How To Name The Bigger Light, And How The Less, That Burn By Day And Night.