But Thy Eternal Summer Shall Not Fade.

My Hands Are Of Your Color, But I Shame To Wear A Heart So White.

Commit The Oldest Sins The Newest Kind Of Ways.

Nature's Tears Are Reason's Merriment.

She Moves Me Not, Or Not Removes At Least Affection's Edge In Me.

Some Say That Ever 'gainst The Season Comes Wherein Our Saviour's Birth Is Celebrated, The Bird Of Dawning Singeth All Night Long: And Then, They Say, No Spirit Can Walk Abroad; The Nights Are Wholesome; Then No Planets Strike, No Fairy Takes, Nor Wi