And close with his immortal kisses! Happy soul! who never misses To improve that precious hour; And every day Seize her sweet prey, All fresh and fragrant as he rises, Dropping with a baliny shower, A delicious dew of spices. At once ten thousand paradises: The rich and rosal spring of those rare sweets, Which with a swelling bosom there she meets; Boundless and infinite, bottomless treasures Of pure inebriating pleasures. What joy, what bliss, How many heavens at once it is To have a God become her lover. JOHN DONNE. THE FARE WELL. As virtuous men pass mildly away, And whisper to their souls to go; Whilst some of their sad friends do say, HENRY RIPLEY DORR. DOOR AND WINDOW. THERE is a room, a stately room, Now filled with light, now wrapped in gloom. The breath goes now-and some say, There is a door, a steel-clad door, no; So let us melt and make no noise, move; 'Twere profanation of our joys To tell the laity our love. Moving of th' earth brings harms and fears, Men reckon what it did, and meant: Dull, sublunary lovers' love But we're by love so much refined, Our two souls, therefore (which are one), Though I must go, endure not yet If they be two, they are two so To move, but doth, if th' other do. And though it in the centre sit, Such wilt thou be to me, who must Like th' other foot, obliquely run; Thy firmness makes my circles just, And makes me end where I begun. Your hands are bleeding? Then come away, Perhaps, at length, you have learned to-day That only when under the grass or Snow We learn what mortals must die to know; That only when we are still and cold The door swings wide on its hinges old! SIR EDWARD DYER. MY MIND TO ME A KINGDOM IS. My mind to me a kingdom is; Such perfect joy therein I find As far exceeds all earthly bliss That God or Nature hath assigned; Though much I want that most would have, Yet still my mind forbids to crave. Content I live; this is my stay, I seek no more than may suffice. I press to bear no haughty sway; Look, what I lack my mind supplies. Lo! thus I triumph like a king! Content with that my mind doth bring. I see how plenty surfeits oft, And hasty climbers soonest fall; I see that such as sit aloft Mishap doth threaten most of all. These get with toil, and keep with fear; Such cares my mind could never bear. No princely pomp nor wealthy store, No shape to win a lover's eye, Some have too much, yet still they crave; I little have, yet seek no more, They are but poor, though much they have; And I am rich with little store. They poor, I rich; they beg, I give: They lack, I lend; they pine, I live. I laugh not at another's loss, I grudge not at another's gain: No worldly wave my mind can toss; I brook that is another's bane. I fear no foe, nor fawn on friend; I loathe not life, nor dread mine end. I joy not in no earthly bliss; I weigh not Croesus' wealth a straw; For care, I care not what it is: I fear not fortune's fatal law; My mind is such as may not move For beauty bright, or force of love. I wish but what I have at will; I wander not to seek for more: I like the plain, I climb no hill; In greatest storms I sit on shore, And laugh at them that toil in vain To get what must be lost again. I kiss not where I wish to kill; I feign not love where most I hate; I break no sleep to win my will; I wait not at the mighty's gate. I scorn no poor, I fear no rich; I feel no want, nor have too much. The court nor cart I like nor loathe; Extremes are counted worst of all; The golden mean betwixt them both Doth surest sit, and fears no fall; This is my choice; for why, I find No wealth is like a quiet mind. My wealth is health and perfect ease; My conscience clear my chief defence: I never seek by bribes to please, Nor by desert to give offence. Thus do I live, thus will I die; Would all did so as well as I! WILLIAM D. GALLAGHER. TWO APRILS. If true unto thyself thou wast, A feather, which thou mightest cast WHEN last the maple bud was swell- Aside, as idly as the blast, ing, When last the crocus bloomed THE LABORER. STAND up, erect! Thou hast the form The light leaf from the tree. No:-uncurbed passions, low desires, These are thine enemies -- thy worst; With this, and passions under ban, And likeness of thy God!-- who Look up, then, that thy little span more? A soul as dauntless mid the storm Of daily life, a heart as warm And pure as breast e'er wore. What then? Thou art as true a man Who is thine enemy? The high In station, or in wealth the chief? The great, who coldly pass thee by, With proud step and averted eye? Nay! nurse not such belief. Of life may be well trod. |