I See A Man's Life

Such Tricks Hath Strong Imagination, That, If It Would But Apprehend Some Joy, It Comprehends Some Bringer Of That Joy; Or In The Night, Imagining Some Fear, How Easy Is A Bush Supposed A Bear!

Here Feel We But The Penalty Of Adam, The Seasons' Difference, As The Icy Fang And Churlish Chiding Of The Winter's Wind, Which, When It Bites And Blows Upon My Body, Even Till I Shrink With Cold, I Smile.

Besides, Our Nearness To The King In Love Is Near The Hate Of Those Love Not The King.

Death Rock Me Asleep.

We Are Time's Subjects, And Time Bids Be Gone.