There are, who count the day by Phœbus’ course,
And ask the dial, where the sun should be;
Who teach the clock, to give the hours force,
To speak the change of their monotony;
Who span the earth with measures, and with rules,
And prate of chart, of compass, and of mile;
Others, more learned, beckon to the schools,
Whence time and space flee with mysterious smile:
But we, who count by love, care not to point
Our sweet decisions by such knotty laws;
Whether one be right, or, all be partners joint
In folly’s mandates, or in wisdom’s saws,
Love cares not, knows not, reckons not; its ways
Seem shorter to its joy, than winter days.