I Have Sounded The Very Base-string Of

Love Hath Made Thee A Tame Snake

If I Profane With My Unworthiest Hand This Holy Shrine, The Gentle Fine Is This: My Lips, Two Blushing Pilgrims, Ready Stand To Smooth That Rough Touch With A Tender Kiss.

Love Yourself; And In That Love Not Unconsidered Leave Your Honor.

A Rarer Spirit Never Did Steer Humanity; But You Gods Will Give Us Some Faults To Make Us Men.

Hope Is A Lover's Staff; Walk Hence With That And Manage It Against Despairing Thoughts.