Some Arrows slay but whom they strike - But this slew all but him - Who so appareled his Escape - Too trackless for a Tomb

Why should we censure Othello when the Criterion Lover says, "Thou shalt have no other Gods before Me"?

Here is a little forest Whose leaf is ever green; Here is a brighter garden, Where not a frost has been; In its unfading flowers I hear the bright bee hum; Prithee, my brother, Into my garden come!

You ask of my companions. Hills, sir, and the sundown, and a dog as large as myself.

Anger as soon as fed is dead- 'Tis starving makes it fat.

I felt it shelter to speak to you.

Noon - is the Hinge of Day-.