Love, Which Teacheth Me That

It Is Silliness To Live When To Live Is Torment.

If They Love They Know Not Why, They Hate Upon No Better Ground, They Hate Upon No Better A Ground

Haply A Woman's Voice May Do Some Good When Articles Too Nicely Urged Be Stood On.

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.

All Things Are Ready, If Our Mind Be So.