I know too well the poison and the sting of things too sweet.
Do not look at life's long sorrow; see how small each moment's pain.
No star is lost once we have seen, We always may be what we might have been.
See how time makes all grief decay.
Seated one day at the organ, I was weary and ill at ease, and my fingers wandered idly over the noisy keys. It seemed the harmonious echo from our discordant life.
Dreams grow holy put in action; work grows fair through starry dreaming, But where each flows on unmingling, both are fruitless and in vain.