Thou Shalt Not Stir One

In Me Thou See'st The Twilight Of Such Day As After Sunset Fadeth In The West, Which By And By Black Night Doth Take Away Death's Second Self, That Seals Up All In Rest. -sonnet 73

O, Had I But Followed The Arts!

I Count Myself In Nothing Else So Happy As In A Soul Remembering My Good Friends

Rough Winds Do Shake The Darling Buds Of May.

We Must Be Brief When Traitors Brave The Field.