An Ocean sea of water calme am I,
Wherein kinde Love the forme of fish doth take,
Leaping alongst the shore most wantonly:
Then Ladie, of a Fisher d'on the shape;
Ah, what sweete fishing shall you have to like,
If Love you chance to catch, while he doth bite?
Come then, and nak't into this water hie,
He cannot scape, but (here) perforce must bide,
(Lesse to my hart to save himselfe he flie)
Then quickly strip thy selfe, lay feare aside:
For of this daintie pray, which thou shalt take,
Both Sea, Fish, and thy Selfe, thou glad shalt make.

Of constant Love I am the wasted fire,
The furious winde's my Ladies angrie eye,
Who whilst she kindles both through wrathfull ire,
The flame encreaseth, mounting to the skye.
In midst is Love, halfe dead of greevous paine,
And (doubtfull) wyndes about like sparkling flame.
He feares the heate, and trembles, being turnd
Unto this blast, which still more sharpe doth rise;
Nor is his feare in vaine, when so he is burnd:
For one of these must hap in sudden wise,
Either the fire must spoyle him as his pray,
Or whirling winde els blow him quite away.

Justly of thee (Love partiall) I complaine,
That at one instant, and with one selfe stroke,
Thou darted hast into my hart with paine
Cold chilly frost, and fierie flaming smoke.
Ay me, within me (both) I secret hold,
And whilst th'one burnes me, th'other makes me cold.
Then Cruell, since thou wilt two contraries
(Against my soule) within my hart shall rest,
Ah yet make peace twixt them in loving wise,
Or els (sweete Love) doo promise this at least;
Flame to my frost, and water to my fire,
Life to my hart, to comfort my desire.

Love (being blinde) hath wrought me damage sore,
Thou (blinde in this my loving) evill wast,
Nor would I see the snare (being blinde farre more)
Wherein my selfe I did entangle fast:
Yet hath this blindnes harme done unto none,
But unto Beauties Buzzard, me alone.
When blinded Boy did catch my harmlesse Hart,
Thou didst not see the net so intricate
Which bound mee (being blinde, blinde as thou art)
To be a thrall, in this most wretched state:
So that (alone to worke my misery)
Love blinde is, blinde wert Thou, and blinder I.

She wept upon her cheeks, and weeping so,
She seem'd to quench loves fires that there did glow.

Love bade me aske a gift,
And I no more did move,
But this, that I might shift
Still with my clothes, my Love:
That favour granted was;
Since which, though I love many,
Yet so it comes to passe,
That long I love not any.

That shining moon—watched by that one faint star:
Sure now am I, beyond the fear of change,
The lovely in life is the familiar,
And only the lovelier for continuing strange.

Hail, noble face of noble friend!—
Hail, honoured master hand and dear!—
On you may Christmas good descend
And blessings of the unknown year
So soon to overtake us here.
Unknown, yet well known: I portend
Love starts the course, love seals the end.

Will you be there? my yearning heart has cried:
Ah me, my love, my love, shall I be there,
To sit down in your glory and to share
Your gladness, glowing as a virgin bride?
Or will another dearer, fairer-eyed,
Sit nigher to you in your jubilee;
And mindful one of other will you be
Borne higher and higher on joy's ebbless tide?
—Yea, if I love I will not grudge you this:
I too shall float upon that heavenly sea
And sing my joyful praises without ache;
Your overflow of joy shall gladden me,

“Now I've said all I would, mother;
My head is on thy breast,
And I feel I can die without a sigh,
And sink into my rest.

“And if ever you weep o'er my grave, mother,
Weep not for doubt or sadness;
I shall fall asleep in pain and in grief,
But wake to perfect gladness.”

Mourn not, thou mother of the dead,
That in her youth she died;
for He was with her then Who said:
“Ye that in me abide,
Ask what ye will, it shall be given;
Faith, hope, and love on earth, and Love and Joy in Heaven.”