Nature and Elements

O nightingale, that on yon bloomy spray Warbl’st at eve, when all the woods are still.

Whether beyond the stormy Hebrides, Where thou perhaps under the whelming tide Visit’st the bottom of the monstrous world.

As killing as the canker to the rose.

Under the opening eyelids of the morn, We drove afield; and both together heard What time the gray-fly winds her sultry horn, Batt’ning our flocks with the fresh dews of night.

Under the opening eyelids of the morn, We drove afield; and both together heard What time the gray-fly winds her sultry horn, Batt’ning our flocks with the fresh dews of night.

Yet once more, O ye laurels, and once more Ye myrtles brown, with ivy never sere, I come to pluck your berries harsh and crude, And with forc’d fingers rude Shatter your leaves before the mellowing year.

Sabrina fair, Listen where thou art sitting Under the glassy, cool, translucent wave, In twisted braids of lilies knitting The loose train of thy amber-dropping hair; Listen for dear honor’s sake, Goddess of the silver lake, Listen and save.

Beauty is Nature’s brag, and must be shown In courts, at feasts, and high solemnities, Where most may wonder at the workmanship; It is for homely features to keep home— They had their name thence; coarse complexions And cheeks of sorry grain will serve to ply The sampler, and to tease the huswife’s wool. What need a vermeil-tinctur’d lip for that, Love-darting eyes, or tresses like the morn?

Beauty is Nature’s coin, must not be hoarded, But must be current, and the good thereof Consists in mutual and partaken bliss.

How sweetly did they float upon the wings Of silence, through the empty-vaulted night, At every fall smoothing the raven down Of darkness till it smil’d!

Sweet Echo, sweetest nymph, that liv’st unseen Within thy airy shell By slow Meander’s margent green, And in the violet-embroider’d vale.

Was I deceiv’d or did a sable cloud Turn forth her silver lining on the night?

Was I deceiv’d or did a sable cloud Turn forth her silver lining on the night?

Ere the blabbing eastern scout, The nice morn on th’ Indian steep, From her cabin’d loophole peep.

Ere the blabbing eastern scout, The nice morn on th’ Indian steep, From her cabin’d loophole peep.

What hath night to do with sleep?

And the gilded car of day, His glowing axle doth allay In the steep Atlantic stream.

And the gilded car of day, His glowing axle doth allay In the steep Atlantic stream.

The star that bids the shepherd fold.

The star that bids the shepherd fold.

These my sky-robes, spun out of Iris’ woof.

Before the starry threshold of Jove’s Court My mansion is.

Above the smoke and stir of this dim spot Which men call earth.

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