The Day For Whose Returns,

Sweet Swan Of Avon! What A Sight It Were To See Thee In Our Water Yet Appear.

I Have No Urns, No Dusty Monuments; No Broken Images Of Ancestors, Wanting An Ear, Or Nose; No Forged Tales Of Long Descents, To Boast False Honors From.

Tis No Sin Love's Fruits To Steal; But The Sweet Thefts To Reveal; To Be Taken, To Be Seen, These Have Crimes Accounted Been.

All Concord's Born Of Contraries.

The Soul Of Man Is Infinite In What It Covets.