From the seed of love, a sapling grown.
Rekindled the flame of love by a beauty unknown.
In me, transformation occurred.
Once dark, now seen by me, everywhere, all bright tone.
...
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.