To sleep without thee is to die; In such a dark, Egyptian border, The shades of death dwell and disorder. If joyes and hopes, and earnest throes, Can souls be track'd by any eye But His who gave them wings to flie? Onely this veyle which thou hast broke, O take it off! make no delay; Though with no lilie, stay with me! THE STARRE. WHATEVER 'tis, whose beauty here below Attracts thee thus, and makes thee stream and flow, And wind and curle, and wink and smile, Shifting thy gate and guile, Though thy close commerce nought at all imbarrs Yet, seeing all things that subsist and be First, I am sure, the subject so respected Next, there's in it a restless, pure desire Nor can be writh'd nor wrench'd. These are the magnets, which so strongly move As beauteous shapes, we know not why, For where desire, celestiall, pure desire, This is the heart he craves; and who so will THE PALM-TREE. DEARE friend, sit down, and bear awhile this shade, With other trees; but now shut from the breath And air of Eden, like a mal-content It thrives no where. This makes these weights, like death And sin, hang at him; for the more he's bent, The more he grows. Celestial natures still By flowers and carvings and mysterious skill This is the life which, hid above with Christ Here spirits that have run their race, and fought, And won the fight, and have not feared the frowns Nor lov'd the smiles of greatness, but have wrought Their Master's will, meet to receive their crowns. Here is the patience of the saints: this tree Here is their faith too, which if you will keep JOY. BE dumb, coarse measures; jar no more; to me There is no discord but your harmony, False, jugling sounds; a grone well drest where care Moves in disguise, and sighs afflict the air. Sorrows in white; griefs tun'd; a sugerd dosis But as for thee, whose faults long since require More eyes than stars, whose breath, could it aspire To equal winds, would prove too short: thou hast Another mirth, a mirth, though overcast With clouds and rain, yet full as calm and fine Kill and cure the tender flowers, To ply both thine eyes and breath. Whisper their hours, Drop in their cells; So in sighs and unseen tears Pass thy solitary years, And going hence leave written on some tree, "Sighs make joy sure, and shaking fastens thee." |