My Love Is Thaw'd; Which, Like A

O Ceremony, Show Me But Thy Worth? What Is Thy Soul Of Adoration? Art Thou Aught Else But Place, Degree, And Form, Creating Awe And Fear In Other Men?

O, How Full Of Briers Is This Working-day World!

The Poorest Service Is Repaid With Thanks.

Time's The King Of Men; He's Both Their Parent, And He Is Their Grave, And Gives Them What He Will, Not What They Crave.

It Is The Very Error Of The Moon; She Comes More Nearer Earth Than She Was Wont, And Makes Men Mad.