And then I feel that I would give the world if I could be
From all of human frailty and earthly passion free.
I have thoughts that breathe unholy air, that bring a chilling blight
Upon each better feeling, each principle of right:
Vain, foolish, envious, wicked thoughts that fill my heart with pain;
That pour wild tumult in my breast, and fever on my brain.
I have thoughts that come like zephyrs in the spring-time of the year,
That bear sweet memories of my friends—those who are ever dear;
And some who at another time might seem but friends in name,
Are made by those same gentle thoughts a friendship true to claim.