Nights, sweet as they, Made short by lovers play, Yet long by the absence of the day.
Great little One! whose all-embracing birth
Lifts Earth to Heaven, stoops Heaven to Earth.
And when life's sweet fable ends, soul and body part like friends; no quarrels, murmurs, no delay; a kiss, a sigh, and so away.
Two went to pray? Better to say one went to brag, the other to pray.
All thy old woes shall now smile on thee, and thy pains sit bright on thee. All thy sorrows here shall shine and thy sufferings be divine; Tears shall take comfort and turn to gems and wrongs repent to diadems Even thy deaths shall live and new dress the soul that once they slew.
Heaven's great artillery.
Hark! She is called, the parting hour is come. Take thy farewell, poor world! Heaven must go home. . . .
Nothing speaks our grief so well as to speak nothing.
Locked up from mortal eye in shady leaves of destiny.
In love's field was never found A nobler weapon than a wound.
Thou water turn'st to wine, fair friend of life; Thy foe, to cross the sweet arts of Thy reign, Distils from thence the tears of wrath and strife, And so turns wine to water back again.
Eyes are vocal, tears have tongues, and there are words not made with lungs.
And I, what is my crime I cannot tell,
Unless it be a crime to haue lou'd too well.
A happy soul, that all the way
To heaven hath a summer's day.
A pillow for thee will I bring,Stuffed with down of angel's wing.
Eyes that displace the neighbor diamond, and outface that sunshine by their own sweet grace.
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