I May Neither Choose Who I Would,

Under The Greenwood Tree, Who Loves To Lie With Me And Tune His Merry Note, Unto The Sweet Bird's Throat; Come Hither, Come Hither, Come Hither. Here Shall He See No Enemy But Winter And Rough Weather.

I Do Not Set My Life At A Pin's Fee, And For My Soul, What Can It Do To That, Being A Thing Immortal As Itself?

A Young Woman In Love Always Looks Like Patience On A Monument Smiling At Grief

Love Asks Me No Questions, And Gives Me Endless Support.

Great Griefs Medicine The Less.