To a Fool

If, when thy body’s end has come,

Thy mind must find another home,

Make no mistake with man again;

Come into flesh the thing thou art

In all except thy body’s part-

Come as a silly ass, and plain.

Such were my thoughts, their honest parts,

But Oh, what liars are kind hearts!

What smooth false words such hearts demand:

“Thy dreams,” said I, “give more surprise

Than when I chased bright butterflies,

And missed them with my snapping hand.”