Daffodils, That Come Before The Swallow Dares,

But There Is No Such Man; For, Brother, Men Can Counsel And Speak Comfort To That Grief Which They Themselves Not Feel; But, Tasting It, Their Counsel Turns To Passion, Which Before Would Give Preceptial Medicine To Rage, Fetter Strong Madness In A Silken Thread, Charm Ache With Air And Agony With Words.

Nor Shall This Peace Sleep With Her; But As When The Bird Of Wonder Dies, The Maiden Phoenix, Her Ashes New-create Another Heir As Great In Admiration As Herself.

Oh, She Doth Teach The Torches To Burn Bright! It Seems She Hangs Upon The Cheek Of Night Like A Rich Jewel In An Ethiope’s Ear, Beauty Too Rich For Use, For Earth Too Dear. So Shows A Snowy Dove Trooping With Crows As Yonder Lady O'er Her Fellows Shows. The Measure Done, I’ll Watch Her Place Of Stand, And, Touching Hers, Make Blessèd My Rude Hand. Did My Heart Love Till Now? Forswear It, Sight! For I Ne'er Saw True Beauty Till This Night.

Being Holiday, The Beggar's Shop Is Shut.

I Am The Prince Of Wales; And Think Not, Percy, To Share With Me In Glory Any More: Two Stars Keep Not Their Motion In One Sphere.