SHE, of whose soul, if we may say, 'twas gold,

Her body was the Electrum, and did hold

Many degrees of that; we understood Her by her sight; her pure and eloquent blood

Spoke in her cheeks, and so distinctly wrought,

That one might almost say, her body thought.

She, she thus richly, largely housed, is gone,

And chides us slow-paced snails who crawl upon

Our prison's prison, Earth, nor think us well

Longer than whilst we bear our little shell.

What hope have we to know our

And see all things despoiled of fallacies;

Thou shalt not peep through lattices of eyes,

Nor hear through labyrinths of ears, nor learn

By circuit or collections to discern; In heaven then straight know'st all concerning it,

And what concerns it not, shall straight forget.

There thou but in no other school mayst be

Perchance as learned and as full as she;

She, who all libraries had thoroughly read

At home in her own thoughts, and practisèd

So much good as would make as many more.

(As to their number,) to their dignities.

She whom we celebrate is gone be

fore:

She who had here so much essential joy,

As no chance could distract, much less destroy;

Who with God's presence was acquainted so,

(Hearing and speaking to him,) as to know

His face in any natural stone or tree
Better than when in images they be:
Who kept by diligent devotion
God's image in such reparation
Within her heart, that what decay
was grown

Was her first Parent's fault, and not her own:

Who, being solicited to any act, Still heard God pleading his safe pre-contract:

Who, by a faithful confidence was here

Betrothed to God, and now is married there:

Whose twilights were more clear than our mid-day;

Who dreamed devoutlier than most use to pray:

Who being here filled with grace, yet strove to be

Both where more grace and more capacity

At once is given. She to Heaven is

THOUGH the day of my destiny's over,

And the star of my fate hath declined,

Thy soft heart refused to discover The faults which so many could find.

Though human, thou didst not deceive me;

Though woman, thou didst not forsake;

Though loved, thou foreborest to grieve me;

Though slandered, thou never couldst shake.

Though trusted, thou didst not disclaim me;

Though parted, it was not to fly; Though watchful, 'twas not to defame me,

Nor mute that the world might belie.

over,

Every inmost thought could show! Then thou wouldst at last discover 'Twas not well to spurn it so. Though the world for this commend thee,

Though it smile upon the blow, Even its praises must offend thee, Founded on another's woe. Though my many faults defaced me, Could no other arm be found Than the one which once embraced me,

To inflict a cureless wound? Yet, oh yet, thyself deceive not; Love may sink by slow decay, But by sudden wrench, believe not Hearts can thus be torn away: