With Thee Conversing I Forget All Time.

Loneliness Is The First Thing Which God's Eye Named Not Good.

What Boots It At One Gate To Make Defence, And At Another To Let In The Foe?

But Pain Is Perfect Misery, The Worst Of Evils, And Excessive, Overturns All Patience.

And May At Last My Weary Age Find Out The Peaceful Hermitage, The Hairy Gown And Mossy Cell, Where I May Sit And Rightly Spell Of Every Star That Heaven Doth Shew, And Every Herb That Sips The Dew, Till Old Experience To Attain To Something Like Prophetic Strain.

Fame Is No Plant That Grows On Mortal Soil.