The Wounds Invisible That Love's

Then Will I Raise Aloft The Milk-white Rose. For Whose Sweet Smell The Air Shall Be Perfumed.

They That Have Voice Of Lions And Act Of Hares,--are They Not Monsters?

Love Runs Away From Those Chasing Her, And Those Who Run Away, She Throws Herself On His Neck.

If We Are Mark'd To Die, We Are Enow To Do Our Country Loss; And If To Live, The Fewer Men, The Greater Share Of Honour. God's Will! I Pray Thee; Wish Not One Man More.

Can It Be Chat Modesty May More Betray Our Sense Than Woman's Lightness?