Your Wife Octavia, with her modeſt eyes, / […] ſhall acquire no Honour / Demuring vpon me:

when at the holy mount / Of Heav'ns high-ſeated top, th' Impereal Throne / Of Godhead, fixed for ever firm and ſure,

Before I was blind, I could see very well.

Bloodroot in the leafless wood, Companion of gray Solitude, When the birds begin to sing, Thou, frail welcomer of Spring, Dost thy whitcray'd star unfold, With its seedheart of green'gold, And remindest us how Faith Blooms victorious over Death.