Classic Poem

That unripe side of earth, that heavy clime
That gives us man up now, like Adam's time
Before he ate; man's shape, that would yet be
(Knew they not it, and feared beasts' company)
So naked at this day, as though man there
From Paradise so great a distance were,
As yet the news could not arrived be
Of Adam's tasting the forbidden tree;
Deprived of that free state which they were in,
And wanting the reward, yet bear the sin.
But, as from extreme heights who downward looks,
Sees men at children's shapes, rivers at brooks,
And loseth younger forms; so, to your eye
These (Madam) that without your distance lie,
Must either mist, or nothing seem to be,
Who are at home but wit's mere atomi .
But, I who can behold them move, and stay,
Have found myself to you, just their midway;
And now must pity them; for, as they do
Seem sick to me, just so must I to you.
Yet neither will I vex your eyes to see
A sighing ode, nor cross-armed elegy.
I come not to call pity from your heart,
Like some white-livered dotard that would part
Else from his slippery soul with a faint groan,
And faithfully, (without you smiled) were gone.
I cannot feel the tempest of a frown,
I may be raised by love, but not thrown down.
Though I can pity those sigh twice a day,
I hate that thing whispers itself away.
Yet since all love is fever, who to trees
Doth talk, doth yet in love's cold ague freeze.
'Tis love, but, with such fatal weakness made,
That it destroys itself with its own shade.
Who first looked sad, grieved, pined, and showed his pain,
Was he that first taught women to disdain.
As all things were one nothing, dull and weak,
Until this raw disordered heap did break,
And several desires led parts away,
Water declined with earth, the air did stay,
Fire rose, and each from other but untied,
Themselves unprisoned were and purified;
So was love, first in vast confusion hid,
An unripe willingness which nothing did,
A thirst, an appetite which had no ease,
That found a want, but knew not what would please.
What pretty innocence in those days moved!
Man ignorantly walked by her he loved;
Both sighed and interchanged a speaking eye,
Both trembled and were sick, both knew not why.
That natural fearfulness that struck man dumb,
Might well (those times considered) man become.
As all discoverers whose first assay
Finds but the place, after, the nearest way:
So passion is to woman's love, about,
Nay, farther off, than when we first set out.
It is not love that sueth, or doth contend;
Love either conquers, or but meets a friend.
Man's better part consists of purer fire,
And finds itself allowed, ere it desire.
Love is wise here, keeps home, gives reason sway,
And journeys not till it find summer way.
A weather-beaten lover but once known,
Is sport for every girl to practise on.
Who strives through woman's scorns, women to know,
Is lost, and seeks his shadow to outgo;
It must be sickness, after one disdain,
Though he be called aloud, to look again.
Let others sigh, and grieve; one cunning sleight
Shall freeze my love to crystal in a night.
I can love first, and (if I win) love still;
And cannot be removed, unless she will.
It is her fault if I unsure remain,
She only can untie, and bind again.
The honesties of love with ease I do,
But am no porter for a tedious woo.
But (Madam) I now think on you; and here
Where we are at our heights, you but appear,
We are but clouds you rise from, our noon ray
But a foul shadow, not your break of day.
You are at first hand all that's fair and right,
And others' good reflects but back your light.
You are a perfectness, so curious hit,
That youngest flatteries do scandal it.
For, what is more doth what you are restrain,
And though beyond, is down the hill again.
We'have no next way to you, we cross to it:
You are the straight line, thing praised, attribute.
Each good in you 's a light; so many a shade
You make, and in them are your motions made.
These are your pictures to the life. From far
We see you move, and here your zanies are:
So that no fountain good there is, doth grow
In you, but our dim actions faintly show.
Then find I, if man's noblest part be love,
Your purest lustre must that shadow move.
The soul with body, is a heaven combined
With earth, and for man's ease, but nearer joined.
Where thoughts the stars of soul we understand,
We guess not their large natures, but command.
And love in you, that bounty is of light,
That gives to all, and yet hath infinite,
Whose heat doth force us thither to intend,
But soul we find too earthly to ascend,
'Till slow access hath made it wholly pure,
Able immortal clearness to endure.
Who dare aspire this journey with a stain,
Hath weight will force him headlong back again.
No more can impure man retain and move
In that pure region of a worthy love,
Than earthly substance can unforced aspire,
And leave his nature to converse with fire:
Such may have eye, and hand; may sigh, may speak;
But like swoll'n bubbles, when they are high'st they break.
Though far removed northern fleets scarce find
The sun's comfort; others think him too kind.
There is an equal distance from her eye,
Men perish too far off, and burn too nigh.
But as air takes the sun-beam's equal bright
From the first rays, to his last opposite:
So able men, blessed with a virtuous love,
Remote or near, or howsoe'er they move;
Their virtue breaks all clouds that might annoy,
There is no emptiness, but all is joy.
He much profanes whom violent heats do move
To style his wandering rage of passion, love.
Love that imparts in everything delight,
Is feigned, which only tempts man's appetite.
Why love among the virtues is not known
Is, that love is them all contract in one.