Come wait upon him; lead him to my bower.
The moon methinks looks with a watery eye;
And when she weeps, weeps every little flower,
Lamenting some enforcèd chastity.
[Titania of Bottom Shakespeare, William
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As of: January 09th, 2009 03:52:24 PM
Author: Stephen Wright Watterson
At the round earth's imagin'd corners, blow
Your trumpets, angels, and arise, arise
From death, you numberless infinities
Of souls, and to your scatter'd bodie Donne, John