Casting The Body's Vest Aside, My Soul

But Fate Does Iron Wedges Drive, And Always Crowds Itself Betwixt.

I Have A Garden Of My Own, But So With Roses Overgrown, And Lilies, That You Would It Guess To Be A Little Wilderness.

Had It Lived Long, Is Would Have Been Lilies Without, Roses Within.

And Yonder All Before Us Lie Deserts Of Vast Eternity.

As Lines, So Loves Oblique, May Well Themselves In Every Angle Greet; But Ours, So Truly Parallel, Though Infinite, Can Never Meet.