William Blake

Sound the flute!
Now it's mute!

I must seek for mine.
The moon, like a flower
In heaven's high bower,
With silent delight,

"I have no name;
I am but two days old."

Those who restrain desire, do so because theirs is weak enough to be restrained;

As I was walking among the fires of hell, delighted with the enjoyments of Genius; which to Angels look like torment and insanity.

Prudence is a rich ugly old maid courted by Incapacity.

10 He who desires but acts not, breeds pestilence.

10 The weak in courage is strong in cunning.

but two days old