Great Floods Have Flown From Simple Sources.

These Earthly Godfathers Of Heaven's Lights, That Give A Name To Every Fixed Star, Have No More Profit Of Their Shining Nights Than Those That Walk And Know Not What They Are.

The Wounds Invisible That Love's Keen Arrows Make.

For Naught So Vile That On The Earth Doth Live But To The Earth Some Special Good Doth Give.

You Know That Love Will Creep In Service Where It Cannot Go.

There's Not A Note Of Mine That's Worth The Noting.