Oh, Christ! it is a goodly sight to see What Heaven hath done for this delicious land!
No hand can make the clock strike for me the hours that are passed.
Now what I love in women is, they won't Or can't do otherwise than lie, but do it. So well, the very truth seems falsehood to it.
Perhaps the early grave Which men weep over may be meant to save.
A change came o'er the spirit of my dream.
Death, so called, is a thing which makes men weep, And yet a third of life is passed in sleep.