All human things Of dearest value hang on slender strings.
The lark that shuns on lofty boughs to build, Her humble nest, lies silent in the field.
Stronger by weakness, wiser men become.
All things but one you can restore; the heart you get returns no more.
The chain that's fixed to the throne of Jove, On which the fabric of our world depends, One link dissolved, the whole creation ends.
Music so softens and disarms the mind That not an arrow does resistance find.