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25 From whence th' inlightened spirit sees
That shady City of Palme trees.
But ah! my soul with too much stay
Is drunk, and staggers in the way!
Some men a forward motion love,
30 But I by backward steps would move;
And, when this dust falls to the urn,
In that state I came, return.

DEPARTED FRIENDS

(From Silex Scintillans, Part II., 1655)

They are all gone into the world of light!
And I alone sit ling'ring here!
Their very memory is fair and bright,
And my sad thoughts doth clear.

5 It glows and glitters in my cloudy brest Like stars upon some gloomy grove,

10

Or those faint beams in which this hill is drest
After the Sun's remove.

I see them walking in an air of glory

Whose light doth trample on my days;

My days, which are at best but dull and hoary,
Meer glimmerings and decays.

O holy Hope! and high Humility!

High as the Heavens above;

15 These are your walks, and you have shew'd them

20

me

To kindle my cold love.

Dear, beauteous Death; the Jewel of the Just!
Shining nowhere but in the dark;

What mysteries do lie beyond thy dust,

Could man outlook that mark!

He that hath found some fledg'd bird's nest may know

At first sight if the bird be flown;

But what fair dell or grove he sings in now,
That is to him unknown.

25 And yet, as Angels in some brighter dreams Call to the soul when man doth sleep,

30

So some strange thoughts transcend our wonted theams

And into glory peep.

If a star were confin'd into a tomb,

Her captive flames must needs burn there; But when the hand that lockt her up gives room, She'll shine through all the sphere.

O Father of eternal life, and all

Created glories under thee!

35 Resume thy spirit from this world of thrall Into true liberty!

40

Either disperse these mists, which blot and fill
My perspective still as they pass;

Or else remove me hence unto that hill
Where I shall need no glass.

George Wither

1588-1667

THE AUTHOR'S RESOLUTION IN A SONNET

(From Fidelia, 1615)

Shall I, wasting in despaire

Dye, because a woman's fair?

Or make pale my cheeks with care
Cause anothers Rosie are?

5

Be she fairer than the Day
Or the flowry Meads in May,
If she thinke not well of me,
What care I how faire she be?

Shall my seely heart be pin'd
10 Cause I see a woman kind?
Or a well disposed Nature
Joyned with a lovely feature?
Be she Meeker, Kinder than
Turtle-dove or Pellican:
If she be not so to me,

15

What care I how kind she be?

Shall a woman's Vertues move
Me to perish for her Love?
Or her wel deservings knowne
20 Make me quite forget mine own?
Be she with that Goodness blest
Which may merit name of best:
If she be not such to me,

What care I how Good she be?

25 Cause her Fortune seems too high

30

Shall I play the fool and die?
She that beares a Noble mind,
If not outward helpes she find,

Thinks what with them he wold do,
That without them dares her woe.
And unlesse that Minde I see
What care I how great she be?

Great, or Good, or Kind, or Faire
I will ne're the more despaire:

35 If she love me (this beleeve)

I will Die ere she shall grieve,

If she slight me when I woe,
I can scorne and let her goe,
For if she be not for me
40 What care I for whom she be?

Abrabam Cowley

1618-1667

A VOTE

(From Poetical Blossoms, second ed., 1636)

65 This only grant me, that my means may lie Too low for envy, for contempt too high. Some honour I would have,

70

75

Not from great deeds, but good alone;
The unknown are better than ill known:

Rumour can ope the grave.

Acquaintance I would have, but when 't depends Not on the number, but the choice of friends.

Books should, not business, entertain the light, And sleep, as undisturb'd as death, the night. My house a cottage more

Than palace, and should fitting be

For all my use, no luxury.

My garden painted o'er

With nature's hand, not art's; and pleasures yield,

80 Horace might envy in his Sabine field.

Thus would I double my life's fading space,
For he that runs it well, twice runs his race.
And in this true delight,

These unbought sports, this happy state,
85 I would nor fear, nor wish my fate,
But boldly say each night,

To-morrow let my sun his beams display,
Or in clouds hide them, I have liv'd to-day.

THE GRASSHOPPER

(From Miscellanies, 1650)

Happy Insect what can be
In happiness compar'd to thee?
Fed with nourishment divine,
The dewy morning's gentle wine!
5 Nature waits upon thee still,

And thy verdant cup does fill.
'Tis fill'd where ever thou dost tread,
Nature selfe's thy Ganimed.

Thou dost drink, and dance, and sing;
10 Happier than the happiest King!
All the fields which thou dost see,
All the plants belong to thee,
All that summer hours produce,
Fertile made with early juice.
15 Man for thee does sow and plow;
Farmer he and land-lord thou!
Thou doest innocently joy;
Nor does thy luxury destroy;
The shepherd gladly heareth thee,
20 More harmonious than he.

Thee country hindes with gladness hear,
Prophet of the ripened year!

Thee Phoebus loves, and does inspire;
Phoebus is himself thy sire.

25 To thee of all things upon earth,
Life is no longer than thy mirth,
Happy insect, happy thou,

Dost neither age, nor winter know,

But when thou'st drunk, and danced, and sung,

30 Thy fill, the flowery leaves among

(Voluptuous, and wise with all,

Epicurean animal!)

Sated with thy summer feast,

Thou retir'st to endless rest.

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