So bright the tear in Beauty's eye, Love half regrets to kiss it dry.
He makes a solitude, and calls it - peace!
Oh, nature's noblest gift, my grey goose quill, Slave of my thoughts, obedient to my will, Torn from the parent bird to form a pen, That mighty instrument of little men.
What men call gallantry, and gods adultery, is much more common where the climate's sultry.
A rose with all its sweetest leaves yet folded.
And Doubt and Discord step 'twixt thine and thee.