My soul, enraptured still
Flying, fleeting, resting ill,
Unless it is by fireside perched,
Stealing quotes from persons searched.
Melodies do not a silence disrupt
Unless it be their way to interrupt.
In my experience young and new
A song is a saviour and silence a pew.
A face unsmiling to me is Dido’s pyre,
Yet who would not laugh should truth be a liar?
Ceremonies I find then insipid thus,
Be they reliant on wit and ruled by lust.
