'Tis growne almost a danger to speake true Of any good minde, now: There are so few. The bad, by number, are so fortified, As what th'have lost t'expect, they dare deride....
Though I am young, and cannot tell, Either what love, or death is well, Yet I have heard, yet both bear darts, And both do aim at human hearts: And then again, I have been told...
'Why do we lie,' she questioned, her warm eyes on the grey Autumn wind and its coursing, 'all afternoon wasted in bed like this?' 'Because we cannot lie all night together.'...