Others

His form had yet not lost All her original brightness, nor appear’d Less than archangel ruin’d, and th’ excess Of glory obscur’d.

Sonorous metal blowing martial sounds: At which the universal host up sent A shout that tore hell’s concave, and beyond Frighted the reign of Chaos and old Night.

Anon they move In perfect phalanx, to the Dorian mood Of flutes and soft recorders.

Thy liquid notes that close the eye of day.

He knew Himself to sing, and build the lofty rhyme.

He knew Himself to sing, and build the lofty rhyme.

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.

I was all ear, And took in strains that might create a soul Under the ribs of Death.

Fill’d the air with barbarous dissonance.

How charming is divine philosophy! Not harsh and crabbed, as dull fools suppose, But musical as is Apollo’s lute, And a perpetual feast of nectar’d sweets Where no crude surfeit reigns.

How charming is divine philosophy! Not harsh and crabbed, as dull fools suppose, But musical as is Apollo’s lute, And a perpetual feast of nectar’d sweets Where no crude surfeit reigns.

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.

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!

What never yet was heard in tale or song, From old or modern bard, in hall or bower.

And storied windows richly dight, Casting a dim religious light. There let the pealing organ blow, To the full-voiced choir below, In service high, and anthems clear As may, with sweetness, through mine ear Dissolve me into ecstasies, And bring all Heaven before mine eyes.

And storied windows richly dight, Casting a dim religious light. There let the pealing organ blow, To the full-voiced choir below, In service high, and anthems clear As may, with sweetness, through mine ear Dissolve me into ecstasies, And bring all Heaven before mine eyes.

Where more is meant than meets the ear.

Or bid the soul of Orpheus sing Such notes as, warbled to the string, Drew iron tears down Pluto’s cheek.

Or bid the soul of Orpheus sing Such notes as, warbled to the string, Drew iron tears down Pluto’s cheek.

Or call up him that left half told The story of Cambuscan bold.

Sometime let gorgeous Tragedy In sceptered pall come sweeping by, Presenting Thebes, or Pelops’ line, Or the tale of Troy divine.

And looks commercing with the skies, Thy rapt soul sitting in thine eyes.