My Hands Are Guilty, But My Heart

Dreams Are But Interludes That Fancy Makes... Sometimes Forgotten Things, Long Cast Behind Rush Forward In The Brain, And Come To Mind.

From Harmony, From Heavenly Harmony, This Universal Frame Began: When Nature Underneath A Heap Of Jarring Atoms Lay, And Could Not Heave Her Head, The Tuneful Voice Was Heard From High, 'arise, Ye More Than Dead!' Then Cold, And Hot, And Moist, And Dry, In Order To Their Stations Leap, And Music's Power Obey. From Harmony, From Heavenly Harmony, This Universal Frame Began: From Harmony To Harmony Through All The Compass Of The Notes It Ran, The Diapason Closing Full In Man.

And Plenty Makes Us Poor.

For My Part, I Can Compare Her (a Gossip) To Nothing But The Sun; For, Like Him, She Knows No Rest, Nor Ever Sets In One Place But To Rise In Another.

Much Malice Mingled With A Little Wit Perhaps May Censure This Mysterious Writ.