EDMUND WALLER

A narrow compass! and yet there Dwelt all that 's good, and all that 's fair; Give me but what this riband bound, Take all the rest the sun goes round.

Poets that lasting marble seek Must come in Latin or in Greek.

Circle are praised, not that abound, In largeness, but the exactly round.

Leaving the old, both worlds at once they view, That stand upon the threshold of the new.

Illustrious acts high raptures do infuse, And every conqueror creates a muse.

The lark that shuns on lofty boughs to build, Her humble nest, lies silent in the field.

So must the writer, whose productions should Take with the vulgar, be of vulgar mould.

And as pale sickness does invade, Your frailer part, the breaches made, In that fair lodging still more clear, Make the bright guest, your soul, appear.

Could we forbear dispute, and practise love, We should agree as angels do above.

All human things Of dearest value hang on slender strings.

To love is to believe, to hope, to know; Tis an essay, a taste of Heaven below!

His love at once and dread instruct our thought; As man He suffer'd and as God He taught.

Stronger by weakness, wiser men become.

The seas are quiet when the winds give o'er; So calm are we when passions are no more!

Others may use the ocean as their road; Only the English make it their abode.

Give us enough but with a sparing hand.

Go, lovely rose! Tell her that wastes her time and me That now she knows, When I resemble her to thee, How sweet and fair she seems to be.

How small a part of time they share, That are so wondrous sweet and fair!

The fear of hell, or aiming to be blest, savors too much of private interest.

Tea does our fancy aid, Repress those vapours which the head invade, And keeps that palace of the soul serene.

Poets lose half the praise they should have got, Could it be known what they discreetly blot.

Vexed sailors cursed the rain, for which poor shepherds prayed in vain.

The soul's dark cottage, batter'd and decay'd, Lets in new light through chinks that Time has made. Stronger by weakness, wiser men become As they draw near to their eternal home: Leaving the old, both worlds at once they view That stand upon the threshold of the new.

Since thou wouldst needs, bewitched with some ill charms, Be buried in those monumental arms: As we can wish, is, may that earth lie light Upon thy tender limbs, and so good night.