Emotions and Feelings

Who best Bear his mild yoke, they serve him best: his state Is kingly; thousands at his bidding speed, And post o’er land and ocean without rest; They also serve who only stand and wait.

When I consider how my light is spent, Ere half my days, in this dark world and wide, And that one talent which is death to hide Lodg’d with me useless.

Doth God exact day-labor, light denied?

Blind mouths! That scarce themselves know how to hold A sheep-hook.

The hungry sheep look up, and are not fed, But swoln with wind and the rank mist they draw, Rot inwardly, and foul contagion spread: Besides what the grim wolf with privy paw Daily devours apace, and nothing said; But that two-handed engine at the door Stands ready to smite once, and smite no more.

But O the heavy change, now thou art gone, Now thou art gone and never must return!

Tis Chastity, my brother, Chastity: She that has that, is clad in complete steel.

Such sober certainty of waking bliss.

Virtue could see to do what Virtue would By her own radiant light, though sun and moon Were in the flat sea sunk. And Wisdom’s self Oft seeks to sweet retired solitude, Where, with her best nurse Contemplation, She plumes her feathers, and lets grow her wings.

A thousand fantasies Begin to throng into my memory, Of calling shapes, and beck’ning shadows dire, And airy tongues that syllable men’s names On sands and shores and desert wildernesses.

Come, knit hands, and beat the ground, In a light fantastic round.

Midnight shout and revelry, Tipsy dance and jollity.

Where glowing embers through the room Teach light to counterfeit a gloom, Far from all resort of mirth, Save the cricket on the hearth.

Sweet bird, that shunn’st the noise of folly, Most musical, most melancholy!

And add to these retired Leisure, That in trim gardens takes his pleasure.

Sober, steadfast, and demure.

Hail divinest Melancholy.

Such strains as would have won the ear Of Pluto, to have quite set free His half-regain’d Eurydice. These delights, if thou canst give, Mirth, with thee, I mean to live.

Hence vain deluding Joys, The brood of Folly without father bred!

Hence vain deluding Joys, The brood of Folly without father bred!

And pomp, and feast, and revelry, With mask, and antique pageantry, Such sights as youthful poets dream On summer eves by haunted stream. Then to the well-trod stage anon, If Jonson’s learned sock be on, Or sweetest Shakespeare, Fancy’s child, Warble his native wood-notes wild, And ever, against eating cares, Lap me in soft Lydian airs, Married to immortal verse Such as the meeting soul may pierce, In notes with many a winding bout Of linked sweetness long drawn out.

And pomp, and feast, and revelry, With mask, and antique pageantry, Such sights as youthful poets dream On summer eves by haunted stream. Then to the well-trod stage anon, If Jonson’s learned sock be on, Or sweetest Shakespeare, Fancy’s child, Warble his native wood-notes wild, And ever, against eating cares, Lap me in soft Lydian airs, Married to immortal verse Such as the meeting soul may pierce, In notes with many a winding bout Of linked sweetness long drawn out.

And the jocund rebecks sound To many a youth, and many a maid, Dancing in the checkered shade. And young and old come forth to play On a sunshine holiday.

Mirth, admit me of thy crew, To live with her, and live with thee, In unreproved pleasures free.