And love's the noblest frailty of the mind.
For secrets are edged tools, And must be kept from children and from fools.
Hushed as midnight silence.
That gloomy outside, like a rusty chest, contains the shoring treasure of a soul resolved and brave.
Beauty, like ice, our footing does betray; Who can tread sure on the smooth, slippery way: Pleased with the surface, we glide swiftly on, And see the dangers that we cannot shun.
Either be wholly slaves or wholly free.