Busy old fool, unruly Sun, why dost thou thus through windows and through curtains call on us? Must to thy motions lovers seasons run?
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Fair flower, that dost so comely grow, Hid in this silent, dull retreat, Untouched thy honied blossoms blow, Unseen thy little branches greet; ...No roving foot shall crush thee here, ...No busy hand provoke a tear. By Nature's self in white arrayed, She bade thee shun the vulgar eye, And planted here the gaurdian shade, And sent soft waters murmuring by; ...Thus quietly thy summer goes, ...Thy days declinging to repose. Smit with those charms, that must decay, I grieve to see your future doom; They died--nor were those flowers more gay, The flowers that did in Eden bloom; ...Unpitying frosts, and Autumn's power ...Shall leave no vestige of this flower. From morning suns and evenign dews At first thy little being came: If nothing once, you nothing lose, For when you die you are the same; ...The space between, is but an hour, ...The frail duration of a flower.
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O Sorrow, / Why dost borrow / Heart's lightness from the merriment of May?
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O human race born to fly upward, wherefore at a little wind dost thou fall.
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Death be not proud, though some have called thee Mighty and dreadfull, for thou art not so, For, those, whom thou thinkst, thou dost overthrow, die not, poor death, nor yet canst thou kill me.
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Lord, 'tis Thy plenty-dropping hand That soils my land; And giv'st me, for my bushel sown, Twice ten for one; Thou mak'st my teeming hen to lay Her egg each day; Besides my healthful ewes to bear Me twins each year; The while the conduits of my kine Run cream, for wine. All these, and better, Thou dost send Me, to this end, That I should render, for my part, A thankful heart...
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Death be not proud, though some have called thee Mighty and dreadfull, for thou art not so, For, those, whom thou thinkst, thou dost overthrow, die not, poor death, nor yet canst thou kill me.
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Death be not proud, though some have called thee Mighty and dreadful, for thou art not so; For those whom thou think'st thou dost overthrow Die not, poor death, nor yet canst thou kill me. From rest and sleep, which but thy pictures be, Much pleasure, then from thee much more must flow, And soonest our best men with thee do go, Rest of their bones, and souls' delivery. Thou art slave to fate, chance, kings, and desperate men, And dost with poison, war, and sickness dwell, And poppy, or charms can make us sleep as well, And better than thy stroke; why swell'st thou then? One short sleep past, we wake eternally, And death shall be no more; death, thou shalt die.
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Death be not proud, though some have called thee
Mighty and dreadfull, for thou art not so,
For, those, whom thou thinkst, thou dost overthrow,
die not, poor death, nor yet canst thou kill me.
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Thou, silent form, dost tease us out of thought / As doth eternity: Cold Pastoral!
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Proud of my broken heart since thou didst break it, Proud of the pain I did not feel till thee, Proud of my night since thou with moons dost slake it, Not to partake thy passion, my humility.
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Tell me, my soul, why art thou restless? Why dost thou look forward to the future with such strong desire? The present is thine,--and the past;--and the future shall be! O that thou didst look forward to the great hereafter with half the longing wherewith thou longest for an earthly future,--which a few days at most will bring thee! to the meeting of the dead, as to the meeting of the absent! Thou glorious spirit-land! O, that I could behold thee as thou art,--the region of life, and light, and love, and the dwelling-place of those beloved ones, whose being has flowed onward like a silver-clear stream into the solemn-sounding main, into the ocean of Eternity.
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From one Soul of the Universe are all Souls derived. . .Of these Souls there are many changes, some into a more fortunate estate, and some quite contrary. . .Not all human souls but only the pious ones are divine. Once separated from the body, and after the struggle to acquire piety, which consists in knowing God and injuring none, such a soul becomes all intelligence. The impious soul, however, punishes itself by seeking a human body to enter into, for no other body can receive a human soul it cannot enter the body of an animal devoid of reason. Divine law preserves the human soul from such infamy. . .The soul passeth from form to form and the mansions of her pilgrimage are manifold. Thou puttest off thy bodies as raiment and as vesture dost thou fold them up. Thou art from old, O Soul of Man yea, thou art from everlasting.
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Thou dost preserve the stars from wrong.
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What is thy beloved more than another beloved, O thou fairest among women? what is thy beloved more than another beloved, that thou dost so charge us? / My beloved is white and ruddy, the chiefest among ten thousand.
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Why dost thou gaze upon the sky O that I were yon spangled sphere Then every star should be an eye, To wander o'er thy beauties here.
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Dost thou not know, my son, with how little wisdom the world is governed?
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Yet thou dost look Like Patience gazing on kings' graves, and smiling Extremity out of act.
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An nescis mi fili, quantilla prudentia regitur orbis?
Dost thou not know, my son, with what little wisdom the world is governed?
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O accursed hunger of gold, to what dost thou not compel human hearts!
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Tempest, O Tempest Why dost thou rise From the calm seas of my heart When I look into your eyes? For time and tide May take their toll, But I'll never forget The beauty of your soul. Yet, without your love, I'm left only with pain Oh Tempest, why dost thou bring Such a cold, dark rain?
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Get thee glass eyes And, like a scurvy politician, seem To see the things thou dost not.
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Speak to me as to thy thinkings, As thou dost ruminate, and give thy worst of thoughts The worst of words.
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When thou standest still from thinking and willing of self, the eternal hearing, seeing, and speaking will be revealed to thee, and so God heareth and seeth through thee. Thine own hearing, willing, and seeing hindereth thee, that thou dost not see nor hear God.
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Get thee glass eyes, and like a scurvy politician, seem to see the things thou dost not.
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Speak to me as to thy thinkings,
As thou dost ruminate, and give thy worst of thoughts
The worst of words.
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Dost thou love life Then do not squander time, for that's the stuff life is made of.
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Dost thou love life? Than do not squander time, for it is the stuff life is made of.
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Dost thou love life? Then do not squander time, for that is the stuff life is made of.
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Dost thou think because thou art virtuous there shall be no more cakes and ale?
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