Faith lives in honest doubt.
Read my little fable: He that runs may read. Most can raise the flowers now, For all have got the seed.
Wearing all that weight Of learning lightly like a flower.
O Blackbird! sing me something well: While all the neighbors shoot thee round, I keep smooth plats of fruitful ground, Where thou may'st warble, eat and dwell.
Too much wit makes the world rotten.
There sinks the nebulous star we call the sun.