Faster than spring-time showers comes thought on thought.
I'll say she looks as clear as morning roses newly washed with dew.
And it is very much lamented,... That you have no such mirrors as will turn Your hidden worthiness into your eye That you might see your shadow.
Hot lavender, mints, savory, marjoram; The marigold, that goes to bed wi' the sun, and with him rise weeping.
The path is smooth that leadeth on to danger.
When we our betters see bearing our woes, We scarcely think our miseries our foes.