Talk:Hey, whats up?/@comment-98.181.49.233-20130319235447/@comment-6384318-20130320000017

It was the lark, the herald of the morn,No nightingale. Look, love, what envious streaksDo lace the severing clouds in yonder east.Night’s candles are burnt out, and jocund dayStands tiptoe on the misty mountain tops.I must be gone and live, or stay and die.