O, Let Him Pass. He

My Grief Lies Onward, And My Joy Behind.

Alas, That Love, Whose View Is Muffled Still, Should Without Eyes See Pathways To His Will!

The Undiscovered Country From Whose Bourn No Traveler Returns.

Let Me Be That I Am And Seek Not To Alter Me.

Come Now, What Masques, What Dances Shall We Have To Wear Away This Long Age Of Three Hours Between Our After-supper And Bedtime?