Busy old fool, unruly sun, / Why dost thou thus, / Through windows, and through curtains call on us?

We easily know / By this these angels from an evil sprite, / They set our hairs, but these our flesh upright.

Marriage rings are not of this stuff.

Death be not proud thou some have called thee. Mighty and dreadful for thou art not so.

Storms chafe, and soon wear out themselves, or us; / In calms, Heaven laughs to see us languish thus.

Come live with me and be my love, and we will some new pleasures prove, of golden sands, and crystal beaches, with silken lines and silver hooks...

Who vagrant transitory comets sees, Wonders because they’re rare; but a new star Whose motion with the firmament agrees, Is miracle; for there no new things are.

Eternity is not an everlasting flux of time, but time is as a short parenthesis in a long period; and eternity had been the same as it is, though time had never been.

Come live with me, and be my love, and we will some new pleasures prove, of golden sands, and crystal brooks, with silken lines and silver hooks.

Tears are the summer shower to the soul.