Earth-treading Stars That Make Dark Heaven Light

Yet Mark'd I Where The Bolt Of Cupid Fell: It Fell Upon A Little Western Flower, Before Milk-white, Now Purple With Love's Wound, And Maidens Call It Love-in-idleness.

Here Comes A Man Of Comfort, Whose Advice Hath Often Stilled My Brawling Discontent.

Here I And Sorrows Sit; Here Is My Throne, Bid Kings Come Bow To It.

The Let-alone Lies Not In Your Good Will.

Against Self-slaughter There Is A Prohibition So Divine That Cravens My Weak Hand.