Page:The heptalogia, or, The seven against sense - a cap with seven bells (IA heptalogiaorseve00swin).pdf/49

 And we sharpen our wits up with passions for hones, Melt down loadstars for magnets, use women for whetstones, Learn to bear with dead calms by remembering cyclones, Snap strings short with sharp thumbnails, till silence begets tones, Burn our souls out, shift spirits, turn skins and change zones;

Then the heart, when all's done with, wakes, whimpers, intones Some lost fragment of tune it thought sweet ere it grew sick; (Is it life that disclaims this, or death that disowns?)