Friday, 14 February 2020



When I Died Last, And, Dear, I Die As Often As From Thee I Go Though It Be But An Hour Ago And Lovers Hours Be Full Eternity.
I Would Not That Death Should Take Me Asleep. I Would Not Have Him Merely Seize Me, And Only Declare Me To Be Dead, But Win Me, And Overcome Me. When I Must Shipwreck, I Would Do It In A Sea, Where Mine Impotency Might Have Some Excuse; Not In A Sullen Weedy Lake, Where I Could Not Have So Much As Exercise For My Swimming.
Love Built On Beauty, Soon As Beauty, Dies.
Take Me To You, Imprison Me, For I, Except You Enthrall Me, Never Shall Be Free, Nor Ever Chaste, Except You Ravish Me.
And New Philosophy Calls All In Doubt, The Element Of Fire Is Quite Put Out; The Sun Is Lost, And The Earth, And No Mans Wit Can Well Direct Him Where To Look For It.
Let Us Love Nobly, And Live, And Add Again Years And Years Unto Years, Till We Attain To Write Threescore: This Is The Second Of Our Reign.
Perchance, He For Whom This Bell Tolls May Be So Ill, As That He Knows Not It Tolls For Him...
More Than Kisses Letters Mingle Souls.

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