Eyes are vocal, tears have tongues, And there be words not made with lungs.

Locked up from mortal eye in shady leaves of destiny.

Nights, sweet as they, Made short by lovers play, Yet long by the absence of the day.

Hark! She is called, the parting hour is come. Take thy farewell, poor world! Heaven must go home. . . .

In love's field was never found A nobler weapon than a wound.

A happy soul, that all the way To heaven hath a summer's day.

A pillow for thee will I bring,Stuffed with down of angel's wing.

And I, what is my crime I cannot tell, Unless it be a crime to haue lou'd too well.

And when life's sweet fable ends, soul and body part like friends no quarrels, murmurs, no delay a kiss, a sigh, and so away.

Two went to pray? Better to say one went to brag, the other to pray.

All thy old woes shall now smile on thee, and thy pains sit bright on thee. All thy sorrows here shall shine and thy sufferings be divine Tears shall take comfort and turn to gems and wrongs repent to diadems Even thy deaths shall live and new dress the soul that once they slew.