For Love All Love Of Other Sights

Be More Than Man, Or Thou'rt Less Than An Ant.

I Will Not Look Upon The Quickening Sun, But Straight Her Beauty To My Sense Shall Run; The Air Shall Note Her Soft, The Fire Most Pure; Water Suggest Her Clear, And The Earth Sure; Time Shall Not Lose Our Passages.

Let Man's Soul Be A Sphere, And Then, In This, The Intelligence That Moves, Devotion Is.

All Other Things To Their Destruction Draw, Only Our Love Hath No Decay.

All Whom War, Dearth, Age, Agues, Tyrannies, Despair, Law, Chance, Hath Slain.