Who hears music feels his solitude peopled at once.

There is nothing so unpardonable as to consent to a senseless, aimless, purposeless life.

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

Truth that peeps Over the glass's edge when dinner's done.

In God's good time, Which does not always fall on Saturday When the world looks for wages.

The only fault's with time; All men become good creatures: but so slow!

Of what I call God, And fools call Nature.