Forget thyself to marble.
And join with thee calm Peace and Quiet,
Spare Fast, that oft with gods doth diet.
And add to these retired Leisure,
That in trim gardens takes his pleasure.
Sweet bird, that shun'st the noise of folly,
Most musical, most melancholy!
I walk unseen
On the dry smooth-shaven green,
To behold the wandering moon
Riding near her highest noon,
Like one that had been led astray
Through the heav'n's wide pathless way;
And oft, as if her head she bow'd,
Stooping through a fleecy cloud.
Where glowing embers through the room
Teach light to counterfeit a gloom.
Far from all resort of mirth
Save the cricket on the hearth.
Sometime let gorgeous Tragedy
In sceptred pall come sweeping by,
Presenting Thebes, or Pelops' line,
Or the tale of Troy divine.
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.
Where more is meant than meets the ear.
When the gust hath blown his fill,
Ending on the rustling leaves
With minute drops from off the eaves.
Hide me from day's garish eye.
And storied windows richly dight,
Casting a dim religious light.
Till old experience do attain
To something like prophetic strain.
Such sweet compulsion doth in music lie.
Under the shady roof
Of branching elm star-proof.
O fairest flower! no sooner blown but blasted,
Soft silken primrose fading timelessly.
Such as may make thee search the coffers round.
No war or battle's sound
Was heard the world around.
Time will run back and fetch the age of gold.
Swinges the scaly horror of his folded tail.
The oracles are dumb,
No voice or hideous hum
Runs through the arched roof in words deceiving.
Apollo from his shrine
Can no more divine,
With hollow shriek the steep of Delphos leaving.
No nightly trance or breathed spell
Inspires the pale-eyed priest from the prophetic cell.
From haunted spring and dale
Edg'd with poplar pale
The parting genius is with sighing sent.
Peor and Baälim
Forsake their temples dim.