So sweet love seemed that April morn, when first we kissed beside the thorn, so strangely sweet, it was not strange we thought that love could never change.

O soul, be patient: thou shalt find A little matter mend all this; Some strain of music to thy mind, Some praise for skill not spent amiss.

When Death to either shall come - I pray it be first to me.

My delight and thy delight Walking, like two angels white, In the gardens of the night.

I know that if odour were visible, as colour is, I'd see the summer garden in rainbow clouds.

Scatter the clouds that hide The face of heaven, and show Where sweet peace doth abide, Where Truth and Beauty grow.

Beauty, the eternal Spouse of the Wisdom of God and Angel of his Presence thru' all creation.