The Distance From Nothing To

No Spring Nor Summer Beauty Hath Such Grace As I Have Seen In One Autumnal Face.

Verse Hath A Middle Nature: Heaven Keeps Souls, The Grave Keeps Bodies, Verse The Fame Enrols.

Good Is Not Good, Unless A Thousand It Possess, But Doth Waste With Greediness.

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

There Is Nothing That God Hath Established In A Constant Course Of Nature, And Which Therefore Is Done Every Day, But Would Seem A Miracle, And Exercise Our Admiration, If It Were Done But Once.