To Fear The Foe, Since Fear Oppresseth

Winter's Not Gone Yet, If The Wild Geese Fly That Way.

And Keep You In The Rear Of Your Affection, Out Of The Shot And Danger Of Desire, The Chariest Maid Is Prodigal Enough If She Unmasks Her Beauty To The Moon.

This Is The Very Coinage Of Your Brain: This Bodiless Creation Ecstasy.

Here Is A Rural Fellow That Will Not Be Denied Your Highness' Presence: He Brings You Figs.

The Law Hath Not Been Dead, Though It Hath Slept.