The early larks' shrill orizons, to be

An anthem at the Day's nativity.

And the same rosy-finger'd hand of thine,

4

That shuts Night's dying eyes, shall open mine.
But thou, faint God of Sleep, forget that I

Was ever known to be thy votary.

No more my pillow shall thine altar be,
Nor will I offer any more to thee
Myself a melting sacrifice; I'm born

Again a fresh child of the buxom Morn,

Heir of the sun's first beams; why threat'st thou so! 7-Why dost thou shake thy leaden sceptre? Go,

Bestow thy poppy upon wakeful Woe,

Sickness, and Sorrow, whose pale lids ne'er know
Thy downy finger; dwell upon their eyes,
Shut in their tears: shut out their miseries.

On a Foul Morning, being then to take
a Journey.

Where art thou, Sol, while thus the blindfold Day
Staggers out of the East, loses her way,
Stumbling on Night? Rouse thee, illustrious youth,
And let no dull mists choke thy Light's fair growth.
Point here thy beams; O, glance on yonder flocks,
And make their fleeces golden as thy locks!
Unfold thy fair front, and there shall appear

Full glory flaming in her own free sphere.
Gladness shall clothe the Earth, we will instile
The face of things an universal smile :

Say to the sullen Morn thou com'st to court her,
And wilt demand proud Zephyrus to sport her
With wanton gales; his balmy breath shall lick
The tender drops which tremble on her cheek;
Which rarified, and in a gentle rain

On those delicious banks distill'd again,
Shall rise in a sweet Harvest, which discloses
Two ever-blushing bed[s] of new-born roses.
He'll fan her bright locks, teaching them to flow,
And frisk in curl'd meanders: he will throw
A fragrant breath suck'd from the spicy nest
O' th' precious phoenix, warm upon her breast.
He with a dainty and soft hand will trim
And brush her azure mantle, which shall swim
In silken volumes; wheresoe'er she'll tread
Bright clouds like golden fleeces shall be spread.

Rise then (fair blue-eyed maid !) rise and discover
Thy silver brow, and meet thy golden lover.
See how he runs, with what a hasty flight,
Into thy bosom, bath'd with liquid light.

Fly, fly profane fogs, far hence fly away,
Taint not the pure streams of the springing Day,

With your dull influence; it is for you

To sit and scowl upon Night's heavy brow,

Not on the fresh cheeks of the virgin Morn,

Where naught but smiles and ruddy joys are worn.
Fly then, and do not think with her to stay;
Let it suffice, she'll wear no mask to-day.

3

Whoe'er she be,

That not impossible She

That shall command my heart and me ;

Where'er she lie,

Lock'd up from mortal eye,

In shady leaves of destiny:

Till that ripe Birth

Of studied Fate stand forth,

And teach her fair steps tread our earth;

Till that divine shee = firea azim
Idea take a shrine

Of crystal flesh, through which to shine:

Meet you her, my Wishes,

Bespeak her to my blisses,

And be ye call'd, my absent kisses.

I wish her beauty,

That owes not all its duty

To gaudy tire, or glist'ring shoe-tie,

Something more than

Taffeta or tissue can,

Or rampant feather, or rich fan,

More than the spoil

Of shop, or silkworm's toil,

Or a bought blush, or a set smile;

A Face that's best

By its own beauty dress'd,

And can alone commend the rest,—

A Face made up

Out of no other shop

Than what Nature's white hand sets ope;

A Cheek where youth

And blood, with pen of Truth

Write what their reader sweetly ru'th,—

A Cheek where grows

More than a morning rose,

Which to no box [its] being owes;

Lips, where all day

A lover's kiss may play,

Yet carry nothing thence away;

Looks that oppress

Their richest tires, but dress

Themselves in simple nakedness;

Eyes, that displace

The neighbour diamond, and out-face

That sunshine by their own sweet grace;

Tresses, that wear

Jewels, but to declare

How much themselves more precious are,—

Whose native ray

Can tame the wanton day

Of gems that in their bright shades play,

Each ruby there

Or pearl that dare appear,

Be its own blush, be its own tear ;

A well-tamed Heart

For whose more noble smart

Love may be long choosing a dart;

Eyes that bestow

Full quivers on Love's bow,

Yet pay less arrows than they owe;

Smiles that can warm

The blood, yet teach a charm

That chastity shall take no harm ;

Blushes that bin

The burnish of no sin,

Nor flames of aught too hot within ;