English - Poet | June 16, 1613 - April 29, 1658
Love melts the rigor which the rocks have bred; a flint will break upon a feather bed.
John Cleveland
LoveRocksBedWillBreakFeather
I am no Poet here; my pen's the spout where the rain water of my eyes run out.
EyesRainWaterI AmPenRun
My tears will keep no channel, know no laws to guide their streams, but like the waves, their cause, run with disturbance till they swallow me as a description of his misery.
MeTearsWavesKnowRunWill
Had Cain been Scot, God would have changed his doom nor forced him wander, but confine him home.
HomeGodWanderHimBeenChanged
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