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Loose as the windę, as large as storę.

Shall i be still in suit?

Have I no harvest but a thorn

(To let me bloud, and not restore What I have tost with cordiall fruit?

Surę there was winę

Before my sighs did drie it: there was corn Before my tears did drown it.

Is the yeare onely lost to me?

Have I no bayes to crown it?

No flowers, no gariands gay? all blasted?

Ali wasted?

Not so, my heart: but there is fruit,

And thou hast hands. (George Herbert, "The Collar")

I And the silken sad uncertain rustling of each purple curtain Thrilled me - filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before; So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating 'Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door -Some la te visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door; -This it is, and nothing morę,'

(Edgar Allan Poe, "The Raven")

Peath, be not proud, though some have called thee Mighty and dreadful, for thou art not so;

For those whom thou think'st thou dost overthrow, )ie notpoor Death, nor yet canst thou kill me. John Donnę, "Holy Sonnet X")