Between two fingers holdeth he the truth, I trow.20
The truth doth shed a shining light on human souls,
Received by heaven’s favourites, in special ghostly strolls.
Illumined with that light, as spangles deck a bride,
They turn their souls to God, contemning all beside.
Who feels not keenly love’s great soul-compelling might,
Is portionless of spangles from truth’s flashing light.
All parts must ever share the nature of their whole,
As nightingale pours out unto one rose its soul.
Whatever property may qualify a thing