Painting on clouds, and building in the air:
I sigh within myself, and say in sadness,
"This thing which fools call Love, is nought but Madness!"
XXV.
"The things we have, we most of all neglect;
And that we have not, greedily we crave.
The things we may have, little we respect;
And still we covet, that we cannot have.
Yet, howsoe'er, in our conceit, we prize them;
No sooner gotten, but we straight despise them."