The heart has its own reasons of which the mind
Can never guess the mystical intent,
Why look into the mangled skull to find
Wherefore those atoms toward destruction went
Like chimney swallows whirling toward the sun?
The heart grew tired and so tired the flesh
Of doing things that were too safely done
And far too often to be done of afresh…

The mind with all its knowledge cannot know
Wherefore the heart would quit the house of bone
On wings more ghostly than the ghost of snow.
Tossed by the winds, unweaponed, and alone—
The heart has secrets that cannot be known
To his less ancient brother of the bone!

* From Pascal's line: 
'La coeur a ses raisons que la raison ne connait pas.'
The heart has its reasons that reason does not know.'