How charming is divine philosophy! Not harsh and crabbed, as dull fools suppose, But musical as is Apollo's lute, And a perpetual feast of nectar'd sweets Where no crude surfeit reigns

In contemplation of created things, by steps we may ascend to God.

For neither man nor angel can discern hypocrisy, the only evil that walks invisible, except to God alone.

A short retirement urges a sweet return.

A bevy of fair women.

As children gath'ring pebbles on the shore. Or if I would delight my private hours With music or with poem, where so soon As in our native language can I find That solace?

But oh the heavy change, now thou art gone, Now thou art gone and never must return!