No More Learning

Thou shalt know each hidden cause,

And see the future time,
Try what depth the centre draws,

And then to heaven climb.



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OF MARVELL. 113



SOUL.

None thither mounts by the degree
Of knowledge, but humility.

CHORUS.

Triumph, triumph, victorious soul !

The world has not one pleasure more :
The rest does lie beyond the pole,

And is thine everlasting store.



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114 THE POEMS



A DROP OF DEW.

(TRAjrtLATSD. )

See, how the orient ^ew.
Shed from the bosom of the mom^
Into the blowing roses,
(Yet careless of its mansion new,
For the clear region where 'twas bom,)
Round in itself incloses
And, in its little globe's extent,
Frames, as it can, its native element.
How it the purple flower does shgbt,

Scarce touching where it lies ;
But gazing back upon the skies,
Shines with a mournful light,
Like its own tear,
Because so long divided from the sphere.
Restless it rolls, and unsecure,

Trembling, lest it grow impure ;
Till the warm sun pities its pain,
And to the skies exhales it back a<;ain.



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OF MABYELL. 115

So the souly that drop, that raj,
Of the clear fountain of eternal day,
Could it within the human flower be seen,
Remembering still its former height.
Shuns the sweet leaves, and blossoms green,
And, recollecting its own light.
Does, in its pure and circling thoughts, express
The greater heaven in a heaven less.
In how coy a figure wound.
Every way it turns away,
So the world excluding round,
Yet receiving in the day.
Dark beneath, but bright above.
Here disdaining, there in love.
How loose and easy hence to go ;
How girt and ready to ascend ;
Moving but on a point below.
It all about does upwards bend.
Such did the manna's sacred dew distil.
White and entire, although congealed and chill ;
Congealed on earth; but does, dissolving, run
Into the glories of the almighty sun.



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116 THE P0E3JS



THE GARDEN.

(TRANSLATED. )

How vainly men themselves amaze,
To win the palm, the oak, or bajs,
And their incessant labours see
Crowned from some single herb, or tree,
Whose short and narrow-verged shade
Does prudently their toils upbraid,
While all the flowers, and trees, do close.
To weave the garlands of repose !

Fair Quiet, have I found thee here.
And Innocence, thy sister dear?