Blown roses hold their sweetness to the last.
Having mourned your sin, for outward Eden lost, find paradise within.
All flowers will droop in the absence of the sun that waked their sweets.
A lazy frost, a numbness of the mind.
Jealousy's a proof of love, But 'tis a weak and unavailing medicine; It puts out the disease and makes it show, But has no power to cure.
The conscience of a people is their power.