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But with my finger pointed to
Some asked how pearls did grow and where,
To part her lips and show them there
6. TO THE MEADOWS IN WINTER.
Ye have been fresh and green;
Ye have been filled with flowers;
Where maids have spent their hours.
The richer cowslips home.
Adorned this smoother mead.
poor estates alone.
LX. GEORGE HERBERT.
If thou be master-gunner, spend not all
That thou canst speak at once, but husband it : And give men turns of speech: do not forestall By lavishness thine own and others' wit,
As if thou madest thy will: a civil guest
Be calm in arguing: for fierceness makes
Why should I feel another man's mistakes
In love I should; but anger is not love,
Truth dwells not in the clouds: the bow that's there
Sweet day, so cool, so calm, so bright,
Sweet rose, whose hue, angry and brave,
Thy root is ever in its grave,
And thou must die.
Sweet Spring, full of sweet days and roses,
Only a sweet and virtuous soul,
LXI. ISAAC WALTON
THE ANGLER'S WISH.
I in these flowery meads would be:
I with my angle would rejoice,
Sit here, and see the turtle dove
Or on a bank feel the west wind
Breathe health and plenty, please my mind
To see sweet dew-drops kiss these flowers,
Thus free from lawsuits and the noise
And angle on, and beg to have
1. LXII. SHIRLEY.
DEATH A SONG.
The glories of our birth and state
Must tumble down,
And in the dust be equal made
With the poor crooked scythe and spade. Some men with swords may reap the field, And plant fresh laurels where they kill, But the strong nerves at last must yield; They tame but one another still,
Early or late,
They stoop to fate,
And must give up their murmuring breath, When they, pale captives, stoop to death. The garlands wither on your brow;
Then boast no more your mighty deeds:
Upon death's purple altar now
See where the victor victim bleeds:
To the cold tomb;
Only the actions of the just
Smell sweet and blossom in the dust.
2. A FINE DAY OVERCLOUDED.
Have you never
Look'd from the prospect of your palace window,
When some fair sky courted your eye to read
That trees and flowers appear'd but like so much
When from a coast you see not, comes a cloud
Dark as the womb of night, and with her wings,
Leaves not your frighted eyes a light to see
LXIII. CHARLES I.
Great monarch of the world, from whose power springs
Nature and law, by thy divine decree
The fiercest furies, that do daily tread
Upon my grief, my grey discrownéd head,
Tyranny bears the title of taxation,
Revenge and robbery are reformation,
Oppression gains the name of sequestration.
The church of England doth all factions foster,
The corner-stone's misplaced by every pavier:
LXIV. WILLIAM HABINGTON.
When I survey the bright
So rich with jewels hung that night
Doth like an Ethiop bride appear,
My soul her wings doth spread,
And heaven-ward flies,
The Almighty's mysteries to read
In the large volumes of the skies.
For the bright firmament
Shoots forth no flame
So silent, but is eloquent
In speaking the Creator's name.
No unregarded star
Contracts its light
Into so small a character
Removed far from our human sight:
But, if we steadfast look,
We shall discern
In it, as in some holy book,
How man may heavenly knowledge learn.