She Cannot Love, Nor Take No Shape

To Me, Fair Friend, You Never Can Be Old, For As You Were When First Your Eye I Ey'd, Such Seems Your Beauty Still.

Great Floods Have Flown From Simple Sources.

What Is The City But The People?

Well-apparel'd April On The Heel Of Limping Winter Treads.

I Am Such A Tender Ass, If My Hair Do But Tickle Me, I Must Scratch.