"Sith Nature thus gave her the praise, To be the chiefest work she wrought, In faith, methink, some better ways On your behalf might well be sought, Than to compare, as ye have done, To match the candle with the sun."

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Fair are the flowers and the children, but their subtle suggestion is fairer; Rarer is the roseburst of dawn, but the secret that clasps it rarer; Sweet the exultance of song, but the strain that precedes it is sweeter And never was poem yet writ, but the meaning outmastered the meter.

— Richard Realf