Poets lose half the praise they should have got, Could it be known what they discreetly blot
How small a part of time they share,<br/>That are so wondrous sweet and fair!
Circle are praised, not that abound, In largeness, but the exactly round.
Stronger by weakness, wiser men become.
The soul's dark cottage, battered and decayed,<br/>Lets in new light through chinks that time has made.<br/>Stronger by weakness, wiser men become,<br/>As they draw near to their eternal home.
The fear of hell, or aiming to be blest, savors too much of private interest.
Vexed sailors cursed the rain, for which poor shepherds prayed in vain.
Leaving the old, both worlds at once they view, That stand upon the threshold of the new.
Illustrious acts high raptures do infuse, And every conqueror creates a muse.
And as pale sickness does invade, Your frailer part, the breaches made, In that fair lodging still more clear, Make the bright guest, your soul, appear.
Others may use the ocean as their road; Only the English make it their abode.
Go, lovely rose! Tell her that wastes her time and me That now she knows, When I resemble her to thee, How sweet and fair she seems to be.
How small a part of time they share, That are so wondrous sweet and fair!
His love at once and dread instruct our thought; As man He suffer'd and as God He taught.
To man, that was in th' evening made, Stars gave the first delight; Admiring, in the gloomy shade, Those little drops of light.