The plants look up to heaven, from whence they have their nourishment.

This music crept by me upon the waters, Allaying both their fury and my passion With its sweet air: thence I have follow’d it.

I have drunk and seen the spider.

They that stand high have many blasts to shake them.

Death rock me asleep.

Doubt thou the stars are fire; Doubt that the sun doth move; Doubt truth to be a liar; But never doubt I love.

Ay, when fowls have no feathers and fish have no fin.