It's loneliness that makes one to crave,
It's heartbreaks that make one desire perfection,
It's our dark past that make me want to erase it,
You resemble a god,you remind me of non.
...
Split the Lark—and you'll find the Music—
Bulb after Bulb, in Silver rolled—
Scantilly dealt to the Summer Morning
Saved for your Ear when Lutes be old.