Love Is A Growing, Or

Send Home My Long Strayed Eyes To Me, Which (oh) Too Long Have Dwelt On Thee.

Poor Heretics There Be,which Think To Establish Dangerous Constancy,but I Have Told Them, ‘since You Will Be True,you Shall Be True To Them, Who Are False To You.

Doth Not A Man Die Even In His Birth? The Breaking Of Prison Is Death, And What Is Our Birth, But A Breaking Of Prison?

There Is No Health; Physicians Say That We, At Best, Enjoy But Neutrality.

Our Faults Are Not Seen, But Past Us; Neither Felt, But Only In The Punishment.