It Lies Not In Our

What Feeds Me Destroys Me.

Hell Strives With Grace For Conquest In My Breast. What Shall I Do To Shun The Snares Of Death?

Make Me Immortal With A Kiss.

Goodness Is Beauty In The Best Estate.

Come Live With Me And Be My Love, And We Will All The Pleasures Prove, That Valleys, Groves, Hills, And Fields, Woods, Or Steepy Mountain Yields.