Nights, sweet as they, Made short by lovers play, Yet long by the absence of the day.

Nothing speaks our grief so well as to speak nothing.

Nights, sweet as they, Made short by lovers play, Yet long by the absence of the day.

Hark! She is called, the parting hour is come. Take thy farewell, poor world! Heaven must go home. . . .

A pillow for thee will I bring,Stuffed with down of angel's wing.

And when life's sweet fable ends, soul and body part like friends; no quarrels, murmurs, no delay; a kiss, a sigh, and so away.

Two went to pray? Better to say one went to brag, the other to pray.