Not to know me argues yourselves unknown.
Yet from those flames No light, but rather darkness visible.
The starry cope Of heaven.
Such sober certainty of waking bliss.
Those graceful acts, those thousand decencies, that daily flow from all her words and actions, mixed with love and sweet compliance, which declare unfeigned union of mind, or in us both one soul.
He who would not be frustrate of his hope to write well hereafter in laudable things ought himself to be a true poem.