I Have Thought Some Of Nature's Journeymen

Wisdom And Fortune Combating Together, If That The Former Dare But What It Can, No Chance May Shake It.

Oh, How This Spring Of Love Resembleth, The Uncertain Glory Of An April Day, Which Now Shows All Beauty Of The Sun, And By And By A Cloud Takes All Away

How Use Doth Breed A Habit In A Man.

Prophet May You Be! If I Be False, Or Swerve A Hair From Truth, When Time Is Old And Hath Forgot Itself, When Waterdrops Have Worn The Stones Of Troy, And Blind Oblivion Swallowed Cities Up, And Mighty States Characterless Are Grated To Dusty Nothing, Yet Let Memory, From False To False, Among False Maids In Love, Upbraid My Falsehood!

Where Souls Do Couch On Flowers We'll Hand In Hand.