She sings Thy tears asleep, and dips
Her kisses in Thy weeping eye,
She spreads the red
leaves of Thy lips,
That in their buds yet blushing lie.
She gainst those mother diamonds tries
of her young eagles eyes.
Welcometho not to those gay flies,
Gilded i th beams of earthly kings,
Slippery souls in
But to poor shepherds, homespun things,
Whose wealths their flocks, whose wits to be
read in their simplicity.
Yet, when young Aprils husband showrs
Shall bless the fruitful Maias bed.
Well bring the
first-born of her flowers,
To kiss Thy feet and crown Thy head.
To Thee, dread Lamb! whose love must
The shepherds while they feed their sheep.
To Thee, meek Majesty, soft King
Of simple graces and sweet loves!
Each of us his lamb
Each his pair of silver doves!
At last, in fire of Thy fair eyes,
Ourselves become our own best
THY restless feet now cannot go
For us and our eternal good,
As they were ever wont. What
They swim, alas! in their own flood?
Thy hands to give Thou canst not lift,
Yet will Thy hand still giving be;
It gives, but O, itselfs
It gives tho bound, tho bound tis free!
Who died and were buried together
TO these whom death again did wed
This graves the second marriage-bed.
For though the
hand of Fate could force
Twixt soul and body a divorce,
It could not sever man and wife,
both lived but one life.
Peace, good reader, do not weep;
Peace, the lovers are asleep.
They, sweet turtles,
In the last knot that love could tie.
Let them sleep, let them sleep on,
Till the stormy night be
And the eternal morrow dawn;
Then the curtains will be drawn,
And they wake into a light
day shall never die in night.
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