Think, When We Talk Of Horses, That

Teach Me, Dear Creature, How To Think And Speak; Lay Open To My Earthy-gross Conceit, Smother'd In Errors, Feeble, Shallow, Weak, The Folded Meaning Of Your Words' Deceit.

He That Is Strucken Blind Can Not Forget The Precious Treasure Of His Eyesight Lost.

I Long To Hear The Story Of Your Life, Which Must Take The Ear Strangely.

Is There No Pity Sitting In The Clouds, That Sees Into The Bottom Of My Grief?

The Soul Of This Man Is His Clothes.