Twice Or Thrice Had I Loved Thee

Never Start With Tomorrow To Reach Eternity. Eternity Is Not Being Reached By Small Steps.

Nothing But Man Of All Envenomed Things, Doth Work Upon Itself, With Inborn Stings.

Thou Art Slave To Fate, Chance, Kings, And Desperate Men, And Dost With Poison, War, And Sickness Dwell, And Poppy, Or Charms, Can Make Us Sleep As Well, And Better Than Thy Stroke. Why Swell'st Thou Then?

Death, Thou Shalt Die.

Nature Hath No Goal Though She Hath Law.