Samuel Daniel

Love is a sickness full of woes, All remedies refusing; A plant that with most cutting grows, read more

Love is a sickness full of woes, All remedies refusing; A plant that with most cutting grows, Most barren with best using.

Striving to tell his woes, words would not come;
For light cares speak, when mighty griefs are dumb.

Striving to tell his woes, words would not come;
For light cares speak, when mighty griefs are dumb.

This is the Thing that I was born to do.

This is the Thing that I was born to do.

And who in time knows whither we may vent
The treasure of our tongue? To what strange shores
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And who in time knows whither we may vent
The treasure of our tongue? To what strange shores
This gain of our best glory shall be sent,
T' enrich unknowing nations with our stores?
What worlds in th' yet unformed Occident
May come refin'd with th' accents that are ours?

This many-headed monster, Multitude.

This many-headed monster, Multitude.