Doubt, when by him expressed, shows confidence’s knacks.
The spume that rises from the sea of his pure heart
Partakes the nature of its source, truth’s counterpart.
We must esteem such spume as foam of mountain-rill;—
Upbraiding from a lip beloved is worshipped still.645
Attention we pay not to harsh words issuing thence;—
The features we adore divest them of offence.
However strange such utterances, they all seem true;
The stranger they appear, to sense they lend more cue.
If sugar we should cast in mould to look like bread,