Imagined holy wisdom’s light shone as he’d stuffed.
Himself he fancied equal of prophetic quire;
His raven croak as their sweet song he dared admire.130
He who sets up to write the notes of every bird,
Knows not th’ inspiring springs within their bosom stirred.
Could man acquire the note of nightingale so sweet,
Would he have learnt as well its love the rose to meet?
Should he achieve a notion of that love’s intent;
’Twould be mere surmise, like deaf man’s from lips’ consent.
Such deaf man once was made aware by some kind friend,