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Heaven, of such fair floods as this,
Heaven the crystal ocean is.

5 Ev'ry morn from hence,

A brisk cherub something sips,
Whose soft influence

Adds sweetness to his sweetest lips;
Then to his music and his song
Tastes of this breakfast all day long.

6 When some new bright guest

Takes up among the stars a room,
And Heaven will make a feast,

Angels with their bottles come;
And draw from these full eyes of thine,
Their master's water, their own wine.

7 The dew no more will weep,

The primrose's pale cheek to deck,
The dew no more will sleep,

Nuzzel'd in the lily's neck;

Much rather would it tremble here,
And leave them both, to be thy tear.

8 Not the soft gold, which

Steals from the amber-weeping tree, Makes sorrow half so rich,

As the drops distill'd from thee.

Sorrow's best jewels lie in these

Caskets of which Heaven keeps the keys.

9 When Sorrow would be seen

In her brightest majesty,

(For she is a queen)

Then is she dress'd by none but thee;

Then, and only then she wears

Her richest pearls, I mean thy tears.

10 Not in the Ev'ning's eyes

When they red with weeping are, For the Sun that dies,

Sits Sorrow with a face so fair; Nowhere but here did ever meet Sweetness so sad, sadness so sweet.

11 Sadness, all the while

She sits in such a throne as this, Can do nought but smile,

Nor believes she sadness is: Gladness itself would be more glad To be made so sweetly sad.

12 There is no need at all

That the balsam-sweating bough So coyly should let fall

His med'cinable tears; for now Nature hath learn'd t' extract a dew, More sovereign and sweet from you.

13 Yet let the poor drops weep, Weeping is the ease of woe; Softly let them creep,

Sad that they are vanquish'd so; They, though to others no relief, May balsam be for their own grief.

14 Golden though he be,

Golden Tagus murmurs, though, Might.he flow from thee,

Content and quiet would he go;

Richer far does he esteem

Thy silver, than his golden stream.

15 Well does the May that lies Smiling in thy cheeks, confess The April in thine eyes,

Mutual sweetness they express. No April e'er lent softer showers, Nor May returned fairer flowers.

16 Thus dost thou melt the year Into a weeping motion: Each minute waiteth here,

Takes his tear and gets him gone; By thine eyes' tinct ennobled thus, Time lays him up: he's precious.

17 Time as by thee he passes, Makes thy ever-watery eyes His hour-glasses;

By them his steps he rectifies.

The sands he used no longer please,
For his own sands he'll use thy seas.

18 Does thy song lull the air?

Thy tears' just cadence still keeps time. Does thy sweet-breath'd prayer

Up in clouds of incense climb?

Still at each sigh, that is each stop,
A bead, that is a tear doth drop.

19 Does the night arise?

Still thy tears do fall, and fall.
Does night lose her eyes?

Still the fountain weeps for all.

Let night or day do what they will,
Thou hast thy task, thou weepest still.

20 Not, so long she lived,

Will thy tomb report of thee;
But, so long she grieved,

Thus must we date thy memory.
Others, by days, by months, by years
Measure their ages, thou by tears.

21 Say, wat'ry brothers,

Ye simp'ring sons of those fair eyes,
Your fertile mothers,

What hath our world that can entice
You to be born? what is 't can borrow
You from her eyes, swoln wombs of sorrow?

22 Whither away so fast?

Oh whither? for the sluttish Earth

Your sweetness cannot taste,

Nor does the dust deserve your birth.

Whither haste ye then? Oh say
Why ye trip so fast away?

23 We go not to seek

The darlings of Aurora's bed,
The rose's modest cheek,

Nor the violet's humble head:

No such thing; we go to meet
A worthier object, our Lord's feet.

THE TEAR.

1 WHAT bright soft thing is this,
Sweet Mary, thy fair eyes' expense ?
A moist spark it is,

A wat'ry diamond; from whence
The very term, I think, was found,
The water of a diamond.

2 Oh! 'tis not a tear,

"Tis a star about to drop

From thine eye, its sphere;

The Sun will stoop and take it up.

Proud will his sister be to wear
This thine eye's jewel in her ear.

3 Oh! 'tis a tear,

Too true a tear; for no sad eyne,
How sad soe'er,

Rain so true a tear as thine ;
Each drop, leaving a place so dear,
Weeps for itself, is its own tear.

4 Such a pearl as this is,

(Slipp'd from Aurora's dewy breast) The rose-bud's sweet lip kisses;

And such the rose itself, when vex'd

With ungentle flames, does shed,
Sweating in too warm a bed.

5 Such the maiden gem

By the wanton Spring put on,
Peeps from her parent stem,

And blushes on the wat'ry Sun:

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