Turn’d to flowers: still in some,
Colours go and colours come.
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In this world, the Isle of Dreams,
Tears and terrors are our themes,Reciting:But when once from hence we fly,More and more approaching nighUnto young eternity,UnitingIn that whiter Island, whereThings are evermore sincere:Candour here, and lustre there,Delighting:–There no monstrous fancies shallOut of hell an horror call,To create, or cause at allAffrighting.There, in calm and cooling sleep,We our eyes shall never steep,But eternal watch…
Ye silent shades, whose each tree here
Who for some sweet-heart’s sake, did proveThe fire and martyrdom of Love:–Here is the legend of those saintsThat died for love, and their complaints;Their wounded hearts, and names we findEncarved upon the leaves and rind.Give way, give way to me, who comeScorch’d with the self-same martyrdom!And have deserved as much, Love knows,As to be canonized…
Honour to you who sit
And drink your fill of it!Glory and worship beTo you, sweet Maids, thrice three,Who still inspire me;And teach me how to singUnto the lyric string,My measures ravishing!Then, while I sing your praise,My priest-hood crown with baysGreen to the end of days!