Could I but see the lips that dare not breathe They are so beautiful and pressing sweet Could I but touch the wings that underneath Are made so soft thy
water, the beard of earth. The weak in courage is strong in cunning. The apple tree never asks the beech how he shall grow; nor the lion, the horse, how
fractured throne, you make me sick how you destroyed such beauty, but when i come to pluck your throat, thy kingdom come thy will not die, they're pleading
