Take the sweet poetry of life away, and what remains behind?

Stop thinking for once in your life!

The clouds that gather round the setting sun, Do take a sober colouring from an eye, That hath kept watch o'er man's mortality.

"What is good for a bootless bene?" With these dark words begins my tale; And their meaning is, Whence can comfort spring When prayer is of no avail?

His love was like the liberal air, embracing all, to cheer and bless.

The soft blue sky did never melt Into his heart; he never felt The witchery of the soft blue sky!

And homeless near a thousand homes I stood, And near a thousand tables pined and wanted food.