With too much quickness ever to be taught; With too much thinking to have common thought.
With too much quickness ever to be taught; With too much thinking to have common thought.
Remembrance and reflection how allied. What thin partitions divides sense from thought.
Then, at the last and only couplet fraught With some unmeaning thing they call a thought, A needless Alexandrine ends the song, That, like a wounded snake, drags its slow length along.
True Wit is nature to advantage dressed, What oft was thought, bet ne'er so well expressed.
When souls each other draw,
When love is liberty, and nature, law:
All then is full, possessing, and possess'd,
No craving void left aching in the breast:
Ev'n thought meets thought, ere from the lips it part,
And each warm wish springs mutual from the heart.
Before his sacred Name flies ev'ry Fault,
And each exalted Stanza teems with Thought!
Chaos of thought and passion, all confused Still by himself abused or disabused Created half to rise, and half to fall Great lord of all things, yet a prey to all Sole judge of truth, in endless error hurled, The glory, jest, and riddle of the world.
Let Blood and Body bear the fault,
Her Head's untouch'd, that noble Seat of Thought:
Such this day's doctrine--in another fit
She sins with Poets thro' pure Love of Wit.
She speaks, behaves, and acts just as she ought;
But never, never, reach'd one gen'rous Thought.
© 2020 Inspirational Stories
© 2020 Inspirational Stories