There is a garden in her eyes, where roses and white lilies flow.
Never weather-beaten sail more willing bent to shore.
All our pride is but a jest. None are worst and none are best. Grief and hope and joy and fear Play their pageant everywhere.
Let now the chimneys blaze And cups o'erflow with wine; Let well-tuned words amaze With harmony divine.
From heav'nly thoughts all true delight doth spring.
Let now the chimneys blaze And cups o’erflow with wine... The summer hath his joys, And winter his delights; Though love and all his pleasures are but toys, They shorten tedious nights.