To my louing friend Stephen Boughton one of the gentlemen of his Maiestie's Chappell.

S CENTOR the Greeke that with his thundring voice
 Could drownd the din of fifty showting men,
(Albec't they made most admirable noise)
Can not compare with thee, my good Stephen:
 Who with thy voyce dost make each quire to shake;
 Whose diapassons like great deuills speake.

The worlds light shines; shine as it will,
The world will love its Darknesse still:
I doubt though when the World's in Hell,
It will not love its Darknesse halfe so well.

The brocade and rush hat you loved —
it dropped, it dropped
into the Kamo River, into midstream!
I've been looking for it, asking for it,
and now the day has come, the day has come
after a rustling, clear autumn night!

The potter at Mimaki in Kusuha —
he makes pots, but his daughter's good-looking.
Ah, she's so beautiful!
If I could put her on a love cart
in a procession of three carts, four carts,
and have her called " the governor's lady " !

" Much, much in love, you see her by chance,
then go to bed; that night,
what kind of dream will you have? "
" Thrusting, thrusting, then
holding her tight — that's what I'll dream! "

Let's make love. The night has turned
to daybreak. Bells are ringing.
We've made love since evening
but I'm not tired.
What shall I do?

XVIII SEATHWAITE CHAPEL

Sacred Religion! " mother of form and fear,"
Dread arbitress of mutable respect,
New rites ordaining when the old are wrecked,
Or cease to please the fickle worshipper;
Mother of Love! (that name best suits thee here)
Mother of Love! for this deep vale, protect
Truth's holy lamp, pure source of bright effect,
Gifted to purge the vapoury atmosphere
That seeks to stifle it; — as in those days
When this low Pile a Gospel Teacher knew,
Whose good works formed an endless retinue:

Now what is love I pray thee tell:
It is the fountain and the well,
Where pleasure and repentance dwell,
It is perhaps the sansing bell
That rings all in to heaven and hell:
And this is love, and this is love, as I hear tell.

Now what is love I pray you show:
A thing that creeps and cannot go:
A prize that passeth to and fro,
A thing for me, a thing for moe,
And he that proves shall find it so,
And this is love, and this is love, sweet friends, I trow.

Between the lover and love is a wordless road
crossed only by the spirit

You came, and looked and loved the view
Long-known and loved by me,
Green Sussex fading into blue
With one gray glimpse of sea.