Wilt thou be gone? it is not yet near day. It was the nightingale, and not the lark, That pierc'd the fearful hollow of thine ear; Nightly she sings on yond pomegranate tree. Believe me love, it was the nightingale.
Joined: May 30, 2002
Joined: Jun 13, 2004
... I must be gone and live, or stay and die. Too swift arrives as tardy as too slow.