Travelers Never Did Lie, Though Fools At

Tis Safter To Be That Which We Destroy Than By Destruction Dwell In Doubtful Joy.

I Heard A Bird So Sing, Whose Music, To My Thinking, Pleased The King.

Grief Fills The Room Up Of My Absent Child, Lies In His Bed, Walks Up And Down With Me, Puts On His Pretty Look, Repeats His Words, Remembers Me Of His Gracious Parts, Stuffs Out His Vacant Garments With His Form

Love Goes Toward Love.

Yet This My Comfort: When Your Words Are Done, My Woes End Likewise With The Evening Sun.