A strange, unruly creature is the Heart,
And of its why or wherefore, who shall say?
In counsels where it ought to have no part,
It pushes in, and begs to have a way;
When Intellect and Reason stand and stare,
It 'witches them, and steals their force away;
Of its pitfalls must man indeed beware;
And yet, without it, all is drear and grey.
Truly, a pretty creature is the Heart,
And of its why or wherefore, none can say!