The Labor We Delight In

Even Through The Hollow Eyes Of Death I Spy Life Peering.

Examine Well Your Blood.

I Take Thee At Thy Word: Call Me But Love, And I'll Be New Baptized; Henceforth I Never Will Be Romeo.

Sweets Grown Common Lose Their Dear Delight.

For Where Thou Art, There Is The World Itself, With Every Several Pleasure In The World, And Where Thou Art Not, Desolation.