In heaven I yearn for knowledge, account all else inanity; On earth I confess an itch for the praise of fools - that's vanity

Of what I call God, And fools call Nature.

Praise is deeper than the lips

My care is for myself; Myself am whole and sole reality.

Kiss me as if you made believe You were not sure this eve, How my face, your flower, had pursed It's petals up.

Man partly is and wholly hopes to be.

how sad and bad and mad it was - but then, how it was sweet