Is broken, and 'tis flowers—mere words—he finds
When things—that's fruit—he looked for. Well, once cracked
"The nut, how glad my tooth the kernel grinds!
Song may henceforth boast substance! Therefore, hail
Proser and poet, perfect in both kinds!
"Thou from whose eye hath dropped the envious scale
Which hides the truth of things and substitutes
Deceptive show, unaided optics fail
"To transpierce,—hast entrusted to the lute's
Soft but sure guardianship some unrevealed