Kiss me as if you made believe You were not sure this eve, How my face, your flower, had pursed It's petals up.
A man in armour is his armour's slave.
Where the heart lies, let the brain lie also.
Better have failed in the high aim, as I, Than vulgarly in the low aim succeed As, God be thanked! I do not.
Lose who may-I still can say, Those who win heaven, blest are they!
Earth is crammed with heavens.