Metaphysical Cutup
It is not that I love you less
When first my lines of heavenly Joyes
made mention
through regions farr divided
see with what simplicity
see! With what constant motion
Philosophers have measured mountains
Man, dreame no more of curious mysteries
Oh wearisome condition of humanity !
Oh might Nothing ! Unto thee
O Joyes ! Infinite sweetness! With what flowers
Must I then see, with what busie heart
Heare mee, O God!
Blasted with sighs, and surrounded with teares
Busie old fool , unruly sunne
Absent from thee I languish still
O sweet and bitter monuments of paine
Out upon it , I have lov'd
Sweet day , so cool , so calm , so bright
where do these voices stray
like to the falling of a starre
Poet and Saint ! To thee alone are given
A ward , and still in bonds, one day
All my past life is mine no more
How vainly men themselves amaze
dazel'd thus with height of place
Here lies wise and valiant dust.
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