He renders mine heart a way of knowledge,
So defends the way the blood that passes,
Gone is the light binds whence never it hedge,
Of light divine given haste more, alas;

But part me from all this, if not so bad:
I am only servant that serves nothing,
Few of mine are ways that imply ye love fad,
None but fewer cells that run but doting;

Or reels that poison living whence it sprang,
Cools the melody that me used to soothe,
For ere attempt, his loss made; mine made dank,
Casts that doubt for wash that errs dare himself;

Let not feathers thine drown tears ye disgust,
Grief that shimmers, though alack fetters ‘hind,
Hastens resolve to words now dust depart;
Though forgiv’n, ne had mine heart first to find.

Civilisation, Mysterious, Nature, Pestiferous, Poetry, Romance, Works
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