There's Such Divinity Doth Hedge A King

A Poor Thing, Perhaps, But My Own.

Et Tu Brute! (you Too, Brutus!)

The Poet's Eye, In A Fine Frenzy Rolling, Doth Glance From Heaven To Earth, From Earth To Heaven.

It Were A Grief So Brief To Part With Thee. Farewell.

The Man That Hath No Music In Himself