I Would Challenge You To A Battle

. . From This Moment The Very Firstlings Of My Heart Shall Be The Firstlings Of My Hand. And Even Now, To Crown My Thoughts With Acts, Be It Thought And Done.

In Sooth I Know Not Why I Am So Sad. It Wearies Me, You Say It Wearies You; But How I Caught It, Found It, Or Came By It, What Stuff 'tis Made Of, Whereof It Is Born, I Am To Learn.

The Pleasant'st Angling Is To See The Fish Cut With Her Golden Oars The Silver Stream And Greedily Devour The Treacherous Bait.

My Joy Is Death- Death, At Whose Name I Oft Have Been Afeard, Because I Wish'd This World's Eternity.

Were All The Letters Sun, I Could Not See One.