And love's the noblest frailty of the mind.
Many things impossible to thought have been by need to full perfection brought.
Fool that I was, upon my eagle's wings I bore this wren, till I was tired with soaring, and now he mounts above me.
Shame on the body for breaking down while the spirit perseveres.
Joy rul'd the day, and Love the night.
For your ignorance is the mother of your devotion to me.