Full Oft We See Cold Wisdom Waiting

For The Poor Wren (the Most Diminutive Of Birds) Will Fight, Her Young Ones In Her Nest, Against The Owl.

And, If You Love Me, As I Think You Do, Let's Kiss And Part, For We Have Much To Do

Let The Sap Of Reason Quench The Fire Of Passion.

What, No More Ceremony? See, My Women! Against The Blown Rose May They Stop Their Nose That Kneel'd Unto The Buds.

Then With The Losers Let It Sympathize, For Nothing Can Seem Foul To Those That Win.