“You are just a boy. What do you know?”
I reason and reckon with the aged,
For the tears in my youthful eyes is as pepper,
Fire in my heart, ablaze in my bones,
...
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.