And Mind, With My Heart

But Shall We Wear These Glories For A Day? Or Shall They Last, And We Rejoice In Them?

Let's Talk Of Graves, Of Worms, And Epitaphs; Make Dust Our Paper, And With Rainy Eyes Write Sorrow On The Bosom Of The Earth.... [w]hat Can We Bequeath, Save Our Deposed Bodies To The Ground?... [n]othing Can We Call Our Own, But Death... [l]et Us Sit Upon The Ground, And Tell Sad Stories Of The Death Of Kings: - How Some Have Been Depos'd, Some Slain In War; Some Haunted By The Ghosts They Have Depos'd.

Unhappy That I Am, I Cannot Heave My Heart Into My Mouth.

You Know That Love Will Creep In Service Where It Cannot Go.

A Man I Am Cross'd With Adversity.