As Full Of Spirit As

If Thou Engrossest All The Griefs Are Thine, Thou Robb'st Me Of A Moiety.

Beware The Leader Who Bangs The Drums Of War In Order To Whip The Citizenry Into A Patriotic Fervor.

Therefore The Moon, The Governess Of Floods, Pale In Her Anger Washes All The Air, That Rheumatic Diseases Do Abound; And Through This Distemperature We See The Seasons Alter: Hoary-headed Frosts Fall In The Fresh Lap Of The Crimson Rose.

O Helena, Goddess, Nymph, Perfect, Divine! To What, My Love, Shall I Compare Thine Eyne? Crystal Is Muddy. O, How Ripe In Show Thy Lips, Those Kissing Cherries, Tempting Grow!

To Weep Is To Make Less The Depth Of Grief.