Don't Judge A Man's Conscience By Looking

The Wounds Invisible That Love's Keen Arrows Make.

And When Love Speaks, The Voice Of All The Gods Makes Heaven Drowsy With The Harmony.

Omittance Is No Quittance.

Then Was I As A Tree Whose Boughs Did Bend With Fruit; But In One Night, A Storm Or Robbery, Call It What You Will, Shook Down My Mellow Hangings, Nay, My Leaves, And Left Me Bare To Weather.

When That Churl Death My Bones With Dust Shall Cover.