Every Truth Passes Through Three Stages
Before It''s Recognized
In The First It''s Ridiiculed
In The Second It''s Opposed
In The Third, It''s Regarded As Self Evident . . .
There Is A Garden In Her Face,
Where Roses And White Lilies Blow;
A Heavenly Paradise Is That Place,
Wherein All Pleasant Fruits Do Grow.
There Cherries Grow That None May Buy,
Till Cherry Ripe Themselves Do Cry
