Women are not In their best fortunes strong, but want will perjure the ne'er-touched vestal.
O Helena, goddess, nymph, perfect, divine! To what, my love, shall I compare thine eyne? Crystal is muddy. O, how ripe in show Thy lips, those kissing cherries, tempting grow!
Swift as shadow, short as any dream
Blessed are the peacemakers on earth.
Your hearts are mighty, your skins are whole.
Faster than spring-time showers comes thought on thought.