God guard me from those thoughts men think

In the mind alone;

He that sings a lasting song

Thinks in a marrow-bone;

From all that makes a wise old man

That can be praised of all;

O what am I that I should not seem

For the song’s sake a fool?

I pray—for word is out

And prayer comes round again—

That I may seem, though I die old,

A foolish, passionate man.