I have beheld two lovers in a night Hatched o'er with moonshine from their stolen delight (When this to that, and that to this, had given A kiss to such a jewel of the heaven, Or while that each from other's breath did drink Health to the rose, the violet, or pink), Call'd on the sudden by the jealous mother, Some stricter mistress or suspicious other, Urging divorcement (worse than death to these) By the soon jingling of some sleepy keys, Part with a hasty kiss; and in that show How stay they would, yet forced they are to go. Even such are we, and in our parting do No otherwise than as those former two Natures like ours, we who have spent our time Both from the morning to the evening chime. Nay, till the bellman of the night had tolled Past noon of night, yet wear the hours not old Nor dulled with iron sleep, but have outworn The fresh and fairest nourish of the morn With flame and rapture; drinking to the odd Number of nine which makes us full with God, And in that mystic frenzy we have hurled, As with a tempest, nature through the world, And in a whirlwind twirl'd her home, aghast At that which in her ecstasy had past; Thus crowned with rosebuds, sack, thou mad'st me fly Like fire-drakes, yet didst me no harm thereby. O thou almighty nature, who didst give True heat wherewith humanity doth live Beyond its stinted circle, giving food, White fame and resurrection to the good; Shoring them up 'bove ruin till the doom, The general April of the world doth come That makes all equal. Many thousands should, Were't not for thee, have crumbled into mould, And with their serecloths rotted, not to show Whether the world such spirits had or no, Whereas by thee those and a million since, Nor fate, nor envy, can their fames convince. Homer, Musæus, Ovid, Maro, more Of those godful prophets long before Held their eternal fires, and ours of late (Thy mercy helping) shall resist strong fate, Nor stoop to the centre, but survive as long As fame or rumour hath or trump or tongue; But unto me be only hoarse, since now (Heaven and my soul bear record of my vow) I my desires screw from thee, and direct Them and my thoughts to that sublim'd respect And conscience unto priesthood; 'tis not need (The scarecrow unto mankind) that doth breed Wiser conclusions in me, since I know I've more to bear my charge than way to go, Or had I not, I'd stop the spreading itch Of craving more, so in conceit be rich; But 'tis the God of Nature who intends And shapes my function for more glorious ends. Kiss, so depart, yet stay a while to see The lines of sorrow that lie drawn in me In speech, in picture; no otherwise than when, Judgment and death denounced 'gainst guilty men, Each takes a weeping farewell, racked in mind