The wine in the bottle does not quench thirst.
Between the businesse of life and the day of death, a space ought to be interposed.
Grief melts away Like snow in May, As if there were no such cold thing.
Who shuts his hand has lost his gold, Who opens it hath it twice told.
You cannot make the fire so low but it will get out.
Sweet day, so cool, so calm, so bright, / The bridal of the earth and sky.