Heaven is a place I can’t reach,
And as fruit mature on that tree, I desire one of each,
Provided for me, I think, but they hopeles’y hang,    
Drowning, sinking to their abhor’end abode, from which they came.

If mortal lips could divine and deliver that single sil’nt syllable,
Will I get that fruit hanging from that azure sky, unreachable,
Our statures reach for the sky, and we fear,
Daily our heroisme we recite, but we don’t come near,

I offer you that love is life, and life is immortality,
Follow that brook into your heart,
There where blushing birds drink without formality,
Alas, will shadows tremble of those little draughts, you pry,
‘less be beware, or that brook of life will soon burn and be dry.