Twice Or Thrice Had I Loved Thee

To Know And Feel All This And Not Have The Words To Express It Makes A Human A Grave Of His Own Thoughts.

I Am Two Fools, I Know, For Loving, And For Saying So.

Who Ever Comes To Shroud Me, Do Not Harm Nor Question Much That Subtle Wreath Of Hair, Which Crowns My Arm; The Mystery, The Sign You Must Not Touch, For 'tis My Outward Soul, Viceroy To That, Which Then To Heaven Being Gone, Will Leave This To Control, And Keep These Limbs, Her Provinces, From Dissolution.

And If There Be Any Addition To Knowledge, It Is Rather A New Knowledge Than A Greater Knowledge; Rather A Singularity In A Desire Of Proposing Something That Was Not Knownat All Beforethananimproving, Anadvancing, A Multiplying Of Former Inceptions; And By That Means, No Knowledge Comes To Be Perfect.

Christ Beats His Drum, But He Does Not Press Men; Christ Is Served With Voluntaries.