My love is of a birth as rare As 'tis for object strange and high; It was begotten by Despair Upon Impossibility.

Casting the body's vest aside, My soul into the boughs does glide.

Love's whole world on us doth wheel.

Meanwhile the mind from pleasure less Withdraws into its happiness; The mind, that ocean where each kind Does straight its own resemblance find; Yet it creates…

With blackest moss the flower plots Were thickly crusted, one and all; The rusted nails fell from the knots That held the pear to the gable wall. The broken sh…

The one thing I can't have in all this world is [her]. But she's what I've wanted, all day, all month, all these years

and you kissed me shy as though I'd never been your lover