The moon is like a lamp,
The sun is like a fire,
The weathercock can see them both;
He sits upon the spire.

He sits upon the spire
High above the ground—
I'd like to be a weathercock
Turning round and round.

Methinks I draw but sickly breath:
Who knows but I
Before next night may sleeping lie,
Rock'd in the arms of death?

The swift-foot minutes pass away;
For Time hath wings,
That flag not for the breath of kings,
Nor brook the least delay.

And what a parcel of my sand
Is yet to pass,
Or what may break the crazy glass,
How shall I understand?

Then, base delights and dunghill joys!
Farewell, adieu!
While yet I live I'm dead to you,
And such-like toys.

I would not longer own a thought
That crawls so low,

Me Cupid made a Happy Slave,
A merry wretched Man,
I slight the Nymphs I cannot have,
Nor Doat on those I can.

This constant Maxim still I hold,
To baffle all Despair;
The Absent Ugly are and Old,
The Present Young and Fair.

Maternal lady with the virgin grace,
Heaven-born thy Jesus seemeth shure,
And of a virgin pure.
Lady most perfect, when thy sinless face
Men look upon, they wish to be
A Catholic, Madonna fair, to worship thee.

A lovely Green Lady
Embroiders and stitches
Sweet flowers in the meadows,
On banks and in ditches.

All day she is sewing,
Embroidering all night;
For she works in the darkness
As well as the light.

She makes no mistake in
The silks which she uses,
And all her gay colours
She carefully chooses.

She fills nooks and corners
With blossoms so small,
Where none but the fairies
Will see them at all.

She sews them so quickly,
She trims them so neatly,
Though much of her broidery
Is hidden completely.

Lord, not for light in darkness do we pray,
Not that the veil be lifted from our eyes,
Nor that the slow ascensions of our day
Be otherwise.

Not for a clearer vision of the things
Whereof the fashioning shall make us great,
Not for remission of the peril and stings
Of time and fate.

Not for a fuller knowledge of the end
Whereto we travel, bruised yet unafraid,
Nor that the little healing that we lend
Shall be repaid.

Not these, O Lord. We would not break the bars
Thy wisdom sets about us; we shall climb

Husband, today could you and I behold
The sun that brought us to our bridal morn
Rising so splendid in the winter sky
(We thought fair spring returned), when we were wed;
Could the shades vanish from these fifteen years,
Which stand like columns guarding the approach
To that great temple of the double soul
That is as one—would you turn back, my dear,
And, for the sake of Love's mysterious dream,
As old as Adam and as sweet as Eve,
Take me, as I took you, and once more go
Towards that goal which none of us have reached?

London Bridge is broken down,
Dance o'er my lady lee,
London Bridge is broken down,
With a gay lady.

How shall we build it up again?
Dance o'er my lady lee,
How shall we build it up again,
With a gay lady.

Build it up with silver and gold,
Dance o'er my lady lee,
Build it up with silver and gold,
With a gay lady.

Silver and gold will be stole away,
Dance o'er my lady lee,
Silver and gold will be stole away,
With a gay lady.

Build it up again with iron and steel,
Dance o'er my lady lee,

Whither excursive Fancy tends thy Flight?
Like Eastern Caliph masking thee at night,
By Vezier memory attended still,
Thou pertly pryest in each domicil.
Woe! to the Caitiff then who in his cups,
Unconscious with sublimity he sups,
Shall vow in Bacchanalian truth or fun
Thou art not kindred to the glorious sun!
I fear thee not, clandestine ambulator!
Thou most sophistical and specious traitor
To Truth and Reason, those imperial twins
Whose Empire with thy Martyrdom begins.
What is thy drift in brandishing a flag,
Whose motto is a metamorphosed rag!

Let me do my work each day;
And if the darkened hours of despair overcome me,
May I not forget the strength that comforted me
In the desolation of other times.
May I still remember the bright hours that found me
Walking over the silent hills of my childhood,
Or dreaming on the margin of the quiet river,
When a light glowed within me,
And I promised my early God to have courage
Amid the tempests of the changing years.
Spare me from bitterness
And from the sharp passions of unguarded moments.
May I not forget that poverty and riches are of the spirit.