It Is The Bright Day That Brings

Out Of Her Favour, Where I Am In Love.

The Urging Of That Word, Judgment, Hath Bred A Kind Of Remorse In Me.

Sleep Dwell Upon Thine Eyes, Peace In Thy Breast! Would I Were Sleep And Peace, So Sweet To Rest.

Britain Is A World By Itself, And We Will Nothing Pay For Wearing Our Own Noses.

Discomfort Guides My Tongue And Bids Me Speak Of Nothing But Despair.