MUCH madness is divinest sense
To a discerning eye;
Much sense the starkest madness.
’T is the majority
In this, as all, prevails.

Sing we for love and idleness,
Naught else is worth the having.
Though I have been in many a land
There is naught else in living.
And I would rather have my sweet,

“PUT off that mask of burning gol
With emerald eyes.”
“O no, my dear, you make so bold
To find if hearts be wild and wise
And yet not cold.”

Let me not to the marriage of true
Admit impediments. Love is not lo
Which alters when it alteration fi
Or bends with the remover to remov
O no! it is an ever—fixed mark

Of Adam’s first wife, Lilith, it
(The witch he loved before the gif
That, ere the snake’s, her sweet t
And her enchanted hair was the fir
And still she sits, young while th

In Flanders fields the poppies bl
Between the crosses, row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sk
The larks, still bravely singing,
Scarce heard amid the guns below.