"We taste and knowledge, with our sins,
Creeps to the heart and spoils the cheat.
In youth, the sun brings light alone—
No shade then rests upon the sight—
But when the beaming morn is flown,
We see the shadows—not the light
I once found music every where—
The whistle from the willow wrung—
The string, set in the window, there,
Sweet measures to my fancy flung.