I love thee, and it is my love that speaks;—
There are a sort of men, whose visages
Do cream
and mantle like a standing pond:
And do a wilful stillness entertain,
With purpose to be dress'd in an opinion
I love thee, and it is my love that speaks;—
There are a sort of men, whose visages
Do cream
and mantle like a standing pond:
And do a wilful stillness entertain,
With purpose to be dress'd in an opinion