From rosy bowers we issue forth,
    From east to west, from south to north,
    Unseen, unfelt, by night, by day,
    Abroad we take our airy way:
    We foster love and kindle strife,
    The bitter and the sweet of life:
    Piercing and sharp, we wound like steel;
    Now, smooth as oil, those wounds we heal:
    Not strings of pearl are valued more,
    Or gems enchased in golden ore;
    Yet thousands of us every day,
    Worthless and vile, are thrown away.
    Ye wise, secure with bars of brass
    The double doors through which we pass;
    For, once escaped, back to our cell
    No human art can us compel.