The mind is cruel when heart is careless
And when they both act they choir in sadness
So into the past they both go hurling
Without thought of time or sleep or madness

But when one acts its action is burning
As all modes of way keep my marble turning
and thinking and rubbed the cloth of cold dress
That night that fire that feeling the yearning

And down so goes and with it tonight
No more is wanting is needing toward flight
Its scent it drips from golden pines pining
What heart could be careless with mind so cruel?
You fool.