The Amity That Wisdom Knits Not, Folly

Let There Be Gall Enough In Thy Ink, Though Thou Write With A Goose-pen, No Matter.

It Is Great To Do That Thing That Ends All Other Deeds, Which Shackles Accidents And Bolts Up Change.

Is This A Vision? Is This A Dream? Do I Sleep?

All Thy Vexations Were But My Trials Of Thy Love, And Thou Hast Strangely Stood The Test; Here, Afore Heaven, I Ratify This My Rich Gift.

What Seest Thou Else In The Dark Backward And Abysm Of Time?