ties of sound,

    Nor but in merriment begin a chase,

    Nor but in merriment a quarrel.

    O may she live like some green laurel

    Rooted in one dear perpetual place.

    My mind, because t I have loved,

    t of beauty t I have approved,

    Prosper but little, e,

    Yet kno to be ce

    May well be of all evil chances chief.

    If tred in a mind

    Assault and battery of the wind

    Can never tear t from the leaf.

    An intellectual red is t,

    So let hink opinions are accursed.

    seen t woman born

    Out of tys horn,

    Because of ed mind

    Barter t horn and every good

    By quiet natures understood

    For an old bellows full of angry wind?

    Considering t, all red driven hence,

    the soul recovers radical innocence

    And learns at last t it is self-delighting,

    Self-appeasing, self-affrighting,

    And t its o will is heavens will;

    Shough every face should scowl

    And every er howl

    Or every bello, be ill.

    And may o a house

    omed, ceremonious;

    For arrogance and red are the wares

    Peddled in thoroughfares.

    in custom and in ceremony

    Are innocence and beauty born?

    Ceremonys a name for the rich horn,

    And custom for tree.