Dearling of these, of future times the glory;
Branch royal sprung from many a regal stem;
On whose fair structure written is the story
Of Nature's chiefest skill, World's choicest gem,
Wit's richest cabinet, Virtue's best array,
Centre where lines of all hearts' loves do meet:
Sweet ground, whereon the Muses love to play;
Ripe in wit, though green in years, of form most sweet.
Scotland's fair fruit, England's great hope, France's love,
Ireland's awe, Cambria's joy, Great Britain's fame,
Abridgment of all worth. The mighty Jove,

Mine eye with all the deadly sins is fraught:
First Proud, sith it presumed to look so high;
A watchman being made, stood gazing by,
And Idle, took no heed till I was caught:
And Envious, bears envy that my thought
Should in his absence be to her so nigh:
To Kill my heart, mine eye let in her eye,
And so consent gave to a murder wrought:
And Covetous, it never would remove
From her fair hair, gold so doth please his sight:
Unchaste, a bawd between my heart and love:
A Glutton eye, with tears drunk every night.

Love is the link, the knot, the band of unity;
And all that love, do love with their beloved to be.
Love only did decree,
To change his kind in me.
For though I loved with all the powers of my mind,
And though my restless thoughts their rest in her did find,
Yet are my hopes declined,
Sith she is most unkind.
For since her beauty's sun my fruitless hope did breed,
By absence from that sun I hoped to starve that weed;
Though absence did indeed
My hopes not starve, but feed.
For when I shift my place, like to the stricken deer,

Oh faithless world, and thy most faithless part,
A woman's heart!
The true shop of variety, where sits
Nothing but fits
And fevers of desire, and pangs of love,
Which toys remove.
Why was she born to please, or I to trust
Words writ in dust?
Suff'ring her eyes to govern my despair,
My pain for air,
And fruit of time rewarded with untruth,
The food of youth.
Untrue she was, yet I believed her eyes,
Instructed spies;
Till I was taught, that love was but a school
To breed a fool

I've learned, in dream or legend dark,
That all love-letters purged with fire,
Drawn in one constellated spark,
To heaven aspire.

To-night there streams across the sky
An unfamiliar reef of stars;
Are those the letters you and I
Thrust through the bars?

In tears of joy they once were read,
In tears of suffering slowly burned;
And now to stars hung overhead
Can each be turned?

O leaves too warm to be discreet,
O panting words that throbbed too loud
With starry laughter now you meet
Behind a cloud!

We'll praise thee, Lord! forever;
Thou reignest, King of kings;
Thy wondrous love and favor,
Each ransom'd captive sings:
We'll celebrate thy glory
With all thy saints above,
And tell the joyful story,
Of thy redeeming love.

Oh ye are dull, ye skies,
A gloom hath o'er you roll'd,
A sorrow on me lies
Too mighty to be told;
The glory of Nature dies,
And all her heart is cold.

He whom I love is false;
The sweetest vow he swore,
His changeful mind recalls
Never, oh nevermore;
Day darkens, and life palls,
And sickens at its core.

His love's last flickering gleam
In his cold heart has died;
" But yet, if I could deem
My passion satisfied,
With friendship and esteem,
He'd give me both," he cried.

Since the sweet knowledge I possess
That she I love is mine,
All Nature throbs with happiness,
And wears a face divine.
The woods seem greener than they were,
The skies are brighter blue;
The stars shine clearer, and the air
Lets finer sunlight through.
Until I loved I was a child,
And sported on the sands;
But now the ocean opens out,
With all its happy lands.

The circles of my sympathy
Extend from earth to heaven:
I strove to pierce a mystery,
And lo! the clue is given.

Blest be the dear uniting love,
That will not let us part!
Our bodies may far off remove,
We still are one in heart.

Join'd in one spirit to our Head,
Where he appoints we go;
We still in Jesus' footsteps tread,
And still his praise we show.

Richly we share the Savior's grace,
We're one in mind and heart;
Not joy, nor grief — not time, nor place,
Not life, nor death — can part.

My Muse by thee restored to life,
To thee, Disdain, this altar rears;
Whereon she offers causeless strife,
Self-spending sighs, and bootless tears.

Long suits in vain ,
Hate for good will;
Still-dying pain,
Yet living still;
Self-loving pride,
Looks coyly strange;
Will, Reason's guide,
Desire of change;
And, last of all,
Blind Fancy's fire;