No More Learning

TO SAPPHO.

Thou say'st thou lov'st me, Sappho; I say no;
But would to Love I could believe 'twas so!
Pardon my fears, sweet Sappho; I desire
That thou be righteous found, and I the liar.


867. OUT OF TIME, OUT OF TUNE.

We blame, nay, we despise her pains
That wets her garden when it rains:
But when the drought has dried the knot,
Then let her use the wat'ring-pot.
We pray for showers, at our need,
To drench, but not to drown our seed.

_Knot_, quaintly shaped flower-bed.


868. TO HIS BOOK.

Take mine advice, and go not near
Those faces, sour as vinegar.
For these, and nobler numbers can
Ne'er please the supercilious man.


869. TO HIS HONOURED FRIEND, SIR THOMAS HEALE.

Stand by the magic of my powerful rhymes
'Gainst all the indignation of the times.
Age shall not wrong thee; or one jot abate
Of thy both great and everlasting fate.
While others perish, here's thy life decreed,
Because begot of my immortal seed.


870. THE SACRIFICE, BY WAY OF DISCOURSE BETWIXT HIMSELF AND JULIA.

_Herr. _ Come and let's in solemn wise
Both address to sacrifice:
Old religion first commands
That we wash our hearts, and hands.
Is the beast exempt from stain,
Altar clean, no fire profane?
Are the garlands, is the nard
Ready here?

_Jul. _ All well prepar'd,
With the wine that must be shed,
'Twixt the horns, upon the head
Of the holy beast we bring
For our trespass-offering.

_Herr. _ All is well; now next to these
Put we on pure surplices;
And with chaplets crown'd, we'll roast
With perfumes the holocaust:
And, while we the gods invoke,
Read acceptance by the smoke.


871. TO APOLLO.

Thou mighty lord and master of the lyre,
Unshorn Apollo, come and re-inspire
My fingers so, the lyric-strings to move,
That I may play and sing a hymn to Love.


872.