The fool inherits, but the wise must get.
Brave spirits are a balsam to themselves,
There is a nobleness of mind that heals
Wounds beyond salves.
Love makes those young whom age doth chill, And whom he finds young, keeps still.
Tell me not of joy: there's none Now my little sparrow's gone; He, just as you, Would toy and woo, He would chirp and flatter me, He would hang the wing awhile, Till at length he saw me smile, Lord! how sullen he would be!
There are two births: the one when light, First strikes the new awakened sense; The other when two souls unite, And we must count our life from thence, When you loved me and I loved you, Then both of us were born anew.
Fancy can save or kill; it hath clos'd up
Wounds when the balsam could not, and without
The aid of salves:--to think hath been a cure.
For witchcraft then, that's all done by the force
Of mere imagination.
Those who are the hardest for me to love are probably those who need my love the most.
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