For Frequent Tears Have Run; The Colours

And Marlowe, Webster, Fletcher, Ben, Whose Fire-hearts Sowed Our Furrows When The World Was Worthy Of Such Men.

Behold Me! I Am Worthy Of Thy Loving, For I Love Thee!

With What Cracked Pitchers Go We To Deep Wells In This World!

Deep Violets, You Liken To The Kindest Eyes That Look On You, Without A Thought Disloyal.

Nosegays! Leave Them For The Waking, Throw Them Earthward Where They Grew Dim Are Such, Beside The Breaking Amaranths He Looks Unto. Folded Eyes See Brighter Colors Than The Open Ever Do.