Love Is Love's Reward.

Not Heav'n Itself Upon The Past Has Pow'r; But What Has Been, Has Been, And I Have Had My Hour.

Long Pains, With Use Of Bearing, Are Half Eased.

To So Perverse A Sex All Grace Is Vain.

All Objects Lose By Too Familiar A View.

Fool That I Was, Upon My Eagle's Wings I Bore This Wren, Till I Was Tired With Soaring, And Now He Mounts Above Me.