Portly, balding, Brooks-Brothered.

Brook! whose society the poet seeks, Intent his wasted spirits to renew; And whom the curious painter doth pursue Through rocky passes, among flowery creeks, And tracks thee dancing down thy water-breaks.

The more thou dam'st it up, the more it burns. The current that with gentle murmur glides, Thou know'st, being stopped, impatiently doth rage; But when his fair course is not hindered, He makes sweet music with th' enameled stones, Giving a gentle kiss to every sedge, He overtaketh in his pilgrimage. And so by many winding nooks he strays With willing sport to the wild ocean. Then let me go and hinder not my course. I'll be as patient as a gentle stream And make a pastime of each weary step, Till the last step have brought me to my love; And there I'll rest, as after much turmoil A blessed soul doth in Elysium.

Oh all the balding men of the world! Neither, split your hair nor let your hair down instead, get up to fight against hair experts and hair industries because, you have nothing to loss except hairs, which you are already losing anyway.

The colors of the underwater rock [are] as pale and delicate as those in the wardrobe of an 18th-century marchioness.

I wondered vaguely if this was when it would end, whether I would pull up tonight's darkness like a quilt and be dead and at peace evermore.