Gather Ye Rosebuds, While Ye May.

It Is The End That Crowns Us, Not The Fight.

Love Is A Circle That Doth Restless Move In The Same Sweet Eternity Of Love.

I'll Write, Because I'll Give - You Critics Means To Live; For Should I Not Supply - The Cause, The Effect Would Die

Roses At First Were White, Till Thy Co'd Not Agree, Whether My Sapho's Breast, Or They More White Sho'd Be.

A Sweet Disorder In The Dress Kindles In Clothes A Wantonness A Lawn About The Shoulders Thrown Into A Fine Distraction.