When sorrows come, they come not single spies, but in battalions.
When we are born we cry that we are come to this great stage of fools.
When words are scarce they are seldom spent in vain.
Where every something, being blent together turns to a wild of nothing.
Who could refrain that had a heart to love and in that heart courage to make love known?
When we are born we cry that we are come to this great stage of fools.
When words are scarce they are seldom spent in vain.
Where every something, being blent together turns to a wild of nothing.
Who could refrain that had a heart to love and in that heart courage to make love known?
