Joy rul'd the day, and Love the night.

Joy in looking and comprehending is nature's most beautiful gift.

But were there ever any Writhed not at passed joy?

Beauty, like ice, our footing does betray; Who can tread sure on the smooth, slippery way: Pleased with the surface, we glide swiftly on, And see the dangers that we cannot shun.

And love's the noblest frailty of the mind.

When rattling bones together fly, / From the four corners of the sky.