I Am Sure Care's An

There Is A Willow Grows Aslant A Brook, That Shows His Hoar Leaves In The Glassy Stream; There With Fantastic Garlands Did She Come Of Crow-flowers, Nettles, Daisies, And Long Purples That Liberal Shepherds Give A Grosser Name, But Our Cold Maids Do Dead Men's Fingers Call Them: There, On The Pendent Boughs Her Coronet Weeds Clambering To Hang, An Envious Sliver Broke; When Down Her Weedy Trophies And Herself Fell In The Weeping Brook.

How My Achievements Mock Me!

Make Passionate My Sense Of Hearing.

But Since The Affairs Of Men Rests Still Incertain, Let's Reason With The Worst That May Befall.

Friendship Is Full Of Dregs.