A Dream Itself Is But A Shadow.

I'll Give My Jewels For A Set Of Beads, My Gorgeous Palace For A Hermitage, My Gay Apparel For An Almsman's Gown, My Figured Goblets For A Dish Of Wood, My Scepter For A Palmer's Walking Staff My Subjects For A Pair Of Carved Saints And My Large Kingdom For A Little Grave.

Being Holiday, The Beggar's Shop Is Shut.

I Pray You, Do Not Fall In Love With Me, For I Am Falser Than Vows Made In Wine.

Opinion Crowns With An Imperial Voice.

Weary With Toil, I Haste Me To My Bed The Dear Repose For Limbs With Travel Tired; But Then Begins A Journey In My Head To Work My Mind, When Body's Work's Expir'd: For Then My Thoughts-from Far Where I Abide- Intend A Zealous Pilgrimage To Thee, And Keep My Drooping Eyelids Open Wide, Looking On Darkness Which The Blind Do See: Save That My Soul's Imaginary Sight Presents Thy Shadow To My Sightless View, Which, Like A Jewel Hung In Ghastly Night, Makes Black Night Beauteous And Her Old Face New. Lo! Thus, By Day My Limbs, By Night My Mind, For Thee, And For Myself No Quiet Find.