I sleep with thee, and wake with thee,And yet thou are not there;I fill my arms with thoughts of thee,And press the common air.

Language has not the power to speak what love inditesThe soul lies buried in the Ink that writes

I hid my love when young till ICouldn't bear the buzzing of a fly;I hid my life to my despiteTill I could not bear to look at light:I dare not gaze upon her faceBut left her memory in each place;Where'er I saw a wild flower lieI kissed and bade my love good-bye.

In crime and enmity they lie Who sin and tell us love can die, Who say to us in slander's breath That love belongs to sin and death.

A maidenhead, the virgin's troubleIs well-compare-d to a bubbleon a navigable riverSoon 'tis touched t'is gone forever