Who mocks at music mocks at love.

Much did I rage when young, Being by the world oppressed, But now with flattering tongue It speeds the parting guest.

The innocent and the beautiful have no enemy but time.

Everything that man esteems Endures a moment or a day. Love's pleasure drives his love away, The painter's brush consumes his dreams.

And the merry love the fiddle, and the merry love to dance.

And God stands winding His lonely horn, And time and the world are ever in flight.

I sat, a solitary man, In a crowded London shop, An open book and empty cup On the marble table-top. While on the shop and street I gazed My body of a sudden blazed; And twenty minutes more or less It seemed, so great my happiness, That I was blessed and could bless.