Praising What Is Lost Makes The Remembrance

Things At The Worst Will Cease Or Else Climb Upward To What They Were Before.

Come Away, Come Away, Death, And In Sad Cypres Let Me Be Laid; Fly Away, Fly Away, Breath; I Am Slain By A Fair Cruel Maid.

It Is The Witness Still Of Excellency To Put A Strange Face On His Own Perfection.

To Die, Is To Be Banish'd From Myself; And Silvia Is Myself: Banish'd From Her, Is Self From Self: A Deadly Banishment! What Light Is Light, If Silvia Be Not Seen? What Joy Is Joy, If Silvia Be Not By? Unless It Be To Think That She Is By, And Feed Upon The Shadow Of Perfection. Except I Be By Silvia In The Night, There Is No Music In The Nightingale; Unless I Look On Silvia In The Day, There Is No Day For Me To Look Upon; She Is My Essence, And I Leave To Be, If I Be Not By Her Fair Influence Foster'd, Illumin'd, Cherish'd, Kept Alive.

Religious Canons, Civil Laws, Are Cruel; Then What Should War Be?