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
Accuse not nature: she hath done her part; Do thou but thine.
On the tawny sands and shelves trip the pert fairies and the dapper elves.
Yet from those flames No light, but rather darkness visible.
What hath night to do with sleep?
For neither man nor angel can discern hypocrisy, the only evil that walks invisible, except to God alone.