The stars, I see, will kiss the valleys first: The odds for high and low's alike

You kiss by the book.

O, here
Will I set up my everlasting rest,
And shake the yoke of inauspicious stars
From this world-wearied flesh. Eyes, look your last!
Arms, take your last embrace! and, lips, O you
The doors of breath, seal with a righteous kiss
A dateless bargain to engrossing death!

How far away the stars seem, and how far is our first kiss, and ah, how old my heart.

Some there be that shadow kiss; Such have but a shadow's bliss.

When he shall die,
Take him and cut him out in little stars,
And he will make the face of heaven so fine
That all the world will be in love with night
And pay no worship to the garish sun.