Merit challenges envy.

But love's a malady without a cure.

That gloomy outside, like a rusty chest, contains the shoring treasure of a soul resolved and brave.

Love is not in our choice but in our fate.

Our souls sit close and silently within, And their own web from their own entrails spin; And when eyes meet far off, our sense is such, That, spider-like, we feel the tenderest touch.

When we view elevated ideas of Nature, the result of that view is admiration, which is always the cause of pleasure.

From Harmony, from heav'nly Harmony. This universal Frame began.