Love's stories written in love's richest books. To fan the moonbeams from his sleeping eyes.
Mercy but murders, pardoning those that kill.
The love that follows us sometime is our trouble, which still we thank as love.
I had as lief have been myself alone.
Give thy thoughts no tongue.
You have but mistook me all the while... I live by bread like you, taste grief, feel want, need friends. Conditioned thus how can you call me king?