Love is a circle that doth restless move in the same sweet eternity of love.
The glorious lamp of heaven, the sun.
Conquer we shall, but, we must first contend! It's not the fight that crowns us, but the end.
In vain our labours are, whatsoe'er they be, unless God gives the Benediction.
It is the end that crowns us, not the fight.
When a daffadill I see, Hanging down his head towards me, Guess I may, what I must be: First, I shall decline my head; Secondly, I shall be dead: Lastly, safely buryed.