To Be No Part Of

It Is Too Little To Call Man A Little World; Except God, Man Is A Diminutive To Nothing.

I Wonder, By My Troth, What Thou And I Did, Till We Lov'd?

As Peace Is Of All Goodness, So War Is An Emblem, A Hieroglyphic, Of All Misery.

For Love All Love Of Other Sights Controls And Makes One Little Room An Everywhere

Tis True, 'tis Day; What Though It Be? O Wilt Thou Therefore Rise From Me? Why Should We Rise, Because 'tis Light? Did We Lie Down, Because 'twas Night? Love Which In Spite Of Darkness Brought Us Hither Should In Despite Of Light Keep Us Together.