Your Hearts Are Mighty, Your Skins Are

Love, Whose Month Is Ever May, Spied A Blossom Passing Fair, Playing In The Wanton Air: Through The Velvet Leaves The Wind, All Unseen Can Passage Find; That The Lover, Sick To Death, Wish'd Himself The Heaven's Breath.

That Which I Would Discover The Law Of Friendship Bids Me To Conceal.

Thou Canst Not Speak Of What Thou Dost Not Feel.

'tis Better To Be Vile Than Vile Esteemed

Under The Greenwood Tree, Who Loves To Lie With Me And Tune His Merry Note, Unto The Sweet Bird's Throat; Come Hither, Come Hither, Come Hither. Here Shall He See No Enemy But Winter And Rough Weather.