I was roaming in the streets of turmoil
Sauntering in the labyrinth of falsehood
Nestled in the feminine cloaks of hood-rats
When I suddenly stopped, in response to a voice
...
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.