Care Charmer Sleepe

I wonder, by my troth, what thou, and I 
Did, till we lov'd? Were we not wean'd till then? 
But suck'd on country pleasures, childishly? 
Or snorted we in the seven sleepers' den? 
'Twas so; but this, all pleasures fancies be. 
If ever any beauty I did see, 
Which I desir'd and got, 'twas but a dream of thee. 

And now good morrow to our waking souls, 
Which watch not one another out of fear;
For love, all love of other sights controls,
And makes one little room, an everywhere. 
Let sea-discoverers to new worlds have gone, 
Let Maps to other, worlds on worlds have shown, 
Let us possess one world, each hath one, and is one. 

My face in thine eye, thine in mine appears, 
And true plain hearts do in the faces rest 
Where can we find two better hemispheres 
Without sharp North, without declining West? 
Whatever dies was not mixed equally; 
If our two loves be one, or thou and I 
Love so alike, that none do slacken, none can die.

Care-charmer Sleep, son of the sable Night,
Brother to Death, in silent darkness born,
Relieve my [languish]1 and restore [the]2 light,
With dark forgetting of my cares, return;
And let the day be time enough to mourn
The shipwreck of my ill-adventur'd youth:
Let waking eyes suffice to wail their scorn,
Without the torment of the night's untruth.
Cease, dreams, th' [imagery of our]3 day-desires
To model forth the passions of the morrow;
Never let rising sun approve you liars,
To add more grief to aggravate my sorrow.
Still let me sleep, embracing clouds in vain;
And never wake to feel the day's disdain.

O joys! Infinite sweetness! with what flowers
And shoots of glory, my soul breaks and buds!
    All the long hours
    Of night and rest,
    Through the still shrouds
    Of sleep, and clouds,
    This dew fell on my breast;
    O how it bloods,
And spirits all my earth! hark! in what rings,
And hymning circulations the quick world
    Awakes, and sings!
    The rising winds,
    And falling springs,
    Birds, beasts, all things
    Adore Him in their kinds.
    Thus all is hurl'd
In sacred hymns and order; the great chime
And symphony of Nature. Prayer is
    The world in tune,
    A spirit-voice,
    And vocal joys,
    Whose echo is heaven's bliss.
    O let me climb
When I lie down!  The pious soul by night

Is like a clouded star, whose beams, though said
    To shed their light
    Under some cloud,
    Yet are above,
    And shine and move
    Beyond that misty shroud.
    So in my bed,
That curtain'd grave, though sleep, like ashes, hide
My lamp and life, both shall in Thee abide.

Romance, who loves to nod and sing
With drowsy head and folded wing
Among the green leaves as they shake
Far down within some shadowy lake,
To me a painted paroquet
Hath been -- most familiar bird -- 
Taught me my alphabet to say,
To lisp my very earliest word
While in the wild wood I did lie,
A child -- with a most knowing eye.

Of late, eternal condor years
So shake the very Heaven on high
With tumult as they thunder by,
I have no time for idle cares
Through gazing on the unquiet sky;
And when an hour with calmer wings
Its down upon my spirit flings,
That little time with lyre and rhyme
To while away -- forbidden things -- 
My heart would feel to be a crime
Unless it trembled with the strings.