I think awhile of Love, and while I think,
Love is to me a world,
Sole meat and sweetest drink,
And close connecting link
Time wears her not; she doth his chariot guide;
Mortality below her orb is placed.
Conscience is instinct bred in the house,
Feeling and Thinking propagate the sin
By an unnatural breeding in and in.
I say, Turn it out doors,
Whate'er we leave to God, God does,
And blesses us;
The work we choose should be our own,
God leaves alone.
Fountain head and source of rivers,
Dew-cloth, dream drapery,