My Hands Are Guilty, But My Heart

Long Pains, With Use Of Bearing, Are Half Eased.

All The Learn'd Are Cowards By Profession.

While I Am Compassed Round With Mirth, My Soul Lies Hid In Shades Of Grief, Whence, Like The Bird Of Night, With Half-shut Eyes, She Peeps, And Sickens At The Sight Of Day.

Let Fortune Empty Her Whole Quiver On Me, I Have A Soul That, Like An Ample Shield, Can Take In All, And Verge Enough For More; Fate Was Not Mine, Nor Am I Fate's: Souls Know No Conquerors.

She Feared No Danger, For She Knew No Sin.