Array thee, love, array thee, love,
In all thy best array thee;
The sun 's below — the moon 's above —
And Night and Bliss obey thee.
Put on thee all that's bright and rare,
The zone, the wreath, the gem.
Not so much gracing charms so fair,
As borrowing grace from them.
Array thee, love, array thee, love,
In all that's bright array thee;
The sun 's below — the moon 's above —

Love is the passion which endureth,
Which neither time nor absence cureth;
Which nought of earthly change can sever:
Love is the light which shines for ever.

What cold and selfish breasts deem madness
Lives in its depths of joy and sadness;
In hearts, on lips, of flame it burneth —
One is its world, to one it turneth.

Its chain of gold — what hand can break it?
Its deathless hold — what force can shake it?
Mere passion aught of earth may sever,
But souls that love, love on for ever.

And an astronomer said, Master, what of Time?
And he answered:
You would measure time the measureless and the immeasurable.
You would adjust your conduct and even direct the course of your spirit according to hours and seasons.
Of time you would make a stream upon whose bank you would sit and watch its flowing.
Yet the timeless in you is aware of life's timelessness,
And knows that yesterday is but today's memory and tomorrow is today's dream.

Then said Almitra, Speak to us of Love.
And he raised his head and looked upon the people, and there fell a stillness upon them. And with a great voice he said:
When love beckons to you, follow him,
Though his ways are hard and steep.
And when his wings enfold you yield to him,
Though the sword hidden among his pinions may wound you.
And when he speaks to you believe in him,
Though his voice may shatter your dreams as the north wind lays waste the garden.

1

Lying upon the beach,
Beelow mee on the sands,
I saw within small reach
A lady ly in bands,
With armes across, and hands
Infolded in thos twines,
Wherby a true love climes
And for loves triumph stands,

2

Alas, cride she, can love
Beequeath mee noe small space
Wher I may live, and love
Butt run in ruins race?
Nor yett to gaine deaths trace,
You locks of his owne haire,
Wittnes I still you beare
In my harts deerest place,

3

Butt O faulse is his hart,
Yett faithfull is his haire,

Love butt a phantesie light, and vaine
Fluttering butt in poorest braine,
Birds in chimnies make a thunder
Putting silly soules in wounder
Soe doth this love, this all commaunder
To a weake poore understander;

2

Slight him, and hee'le your servant bee,
Adore him, you his slave must bee,
Scorne him, O how hee will pray you,
Please him, and hee'lle sure beetray you,
Lett nott his faulshood bee esteemed
Least your self bee disesteemed.

3

Crush nott your witts to place him high,
A thought thing, never seene by eye,

1

Fierce love, alas yett lett mee rest,
Beeholde my boyling brest:
Lett mee butt slumber, if nott sleepe
Continually to weepe
Is too great a smart
To a hart
Transform'd like Niobe to watry powers
Telling howers
In drops of my misfortunes arte;

2

Cruell, alas, why doe thos eyes
Rule of the heavenly skies
Joye in my ruin? My poore streames
Flumes can nott coole your beames
For loves sacred fire
Must aspire
Transcendant to the highest powers
Telling howers
In flames of my consuming fire,

3

1

Have I lost my liberty,
And my selfe, and all, for thee
O Love?
Yet wilt thou no favour give
In my losse thy blame will live;
Alas remove.
2

Pitie claimes a just reward,
But proud thoughts are thy best guard
Once smile:
Glory tis to save a life
When deceivers are in strife
Which to beguile.

3

Love farewell I now discover
Thee a Tyrant o're a lover,
All thy promis'd sweets prove crosses,
Thy rewards are only losses.

A pritty thing I did deeme thee,
Innocent, and mild esteeme thee,
But I find thee as curst matter
As a swelling high wrought water.

Cupids name a pleasant folly
Hath beguiled hearts most holly,

Deare, though unconstant, these I send to you
As witnesses, that still my Love is true.
Receive these Lines as Images of Death,
That beare the Infants of my latest breath,
And to my tryumph, though I dye in woe,
With welcome glory, since you will it so,
Especially, my ending is the lesse,
When I Examples see of my distresse.
As Dido , one whose misery was had
By Love, for which shee in Deathes robes was clad;
Yet lost shee lesse then I, for I possest
And love enjoy'd, she lik'd, what was profest
Most cruell, and the death-lik'st kind of ill,