A Thrush in the Moonlight

Listen to:

A Thrush in the Moonlight (:53)

by Witter Bynner

performed by Bob Gonzalez, rhapsode

In came the moon and covered me with wonder,
Touched me and was near me and made me very still.
In came a rush of song, like rain after thunder,
Pouring importunate on my window-sill.

I lowered my head, I hid it, I would not see nor hear,
The birdsong had stricken me, had brought the moon too near.
But when I dared to lift my head, night began to fill
With singing in the darkness. And then the thrush grew still.
  And the moon came in, and silence, on my window-sill.

To Anyone

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To Anyone (:26)

by Witter Bynner

performed by Bob Gonzalez, rhapsode

Whether the time be slow or fast,
  Enemies, hand in hand,
Must come together at the last
  And understand.
 
No matter how the die is cast      
  Nor who may seem to win,
You know that you must love at last—
  Why not begin?

The Fields

Listen to:

The Fields (:27)

by Witter Bynner

performed by Bob Gonzalez, rhapsode

Though wisdom underfoot
  Dies in the bloody fields,
Slowly the endless root
  Gathers again and yields.
 
In fields where hate has hurled      
  Its force, where folly rots,
Wisdom shall be unfurled
  Small as forget-me-nots.

Childe Harold's Pilgrimage Canto I Part 4

Listen to:

Childe Harold's Pilgrimage Canto I Part 4 (3:13)

by George Gordon, Lord Byron

performed by Bob Gonzalez, rhapsode

A few short hours, and he will rise

   To give the morrow birth;

And I shall hail the main and skies,

   But not my mother earth.

Deserted is my own good hall,

   Its hearth is desolate;

Wild weeds are gathering on the wall,

   My dog howls at the gate.

'Come hither, hither, my little page:

   Why dost thou weep and wail?

Or dost thou dread the billow's rage,

   Or tremble at the gale?

But dash the tear-drop from thine eye,

   Our ship is swift and strong;

Our fleetest falcon scarce can fly

   More merrily along.'

'Let winds be shrill, let waves roll high,

   I fear not wave nor wind;

Yet marvel not, Sir Childe, that I

   Am sorrowful in mind;

For I have from my father gone, 

   A mother whom I love,

And have no friend, save these alone,

   But thee--and One above.

'My father blessed me fervently,

   Yet did not much complain;

But sorely will my mother sigh

   Till I come back again.' -

'Enough, enough, my little lad!

   Such tears become thine eye;

If I thy guileless bosom had,

   Mine own would not be dry.

'Come hither, hither, my staunch yeoman,

   Why dost thou look so pale?

Or dost thou dread a French foeman,

   Or shiver at the gale?' -

'Deem'st thou I tremble for my life?

   Sir Childe, I'm not so weak;

But thinking on an absent wife

   Will blanch a faithful cheek.

'My spouse and boys dwell near thy hall,

   Along the bordering lake;

And when they on their father call,

   What answer shall she make?' -

'Enough, enough, my yeoman good,

   Thy grief let none gainsay;

But I, who am of lighter mood,

   Will laugh to flee away.'

For who would trust the seeming sighs

   Of wife or paramour?

Fresh feeres will dry the bright blue eyes

   We late saw streaming o'er.

For pleasures past I do not grieve,

   Nor perils gathering near;

My greatest grief is that I leave

   No thing that claims a tear.  

And now I'm in the world alone,

   Upon the wide, wide sea;

But why should I for others groan,

   When none will sigh for me?

Perchance my dog will whine in vain

   Till fed by stranger hands;

But long ere I come back again

   He'd tear me where he stands.

With thee, my bark, I'll swiftly go

   Athwart the foaming brine;

Nor care what land thou bear'st me to,

   So not again to mine.

Welcome, welcome, ye dark blue waves!

   And when you fail my sight,

Welcome, ye deserts, and ye caves!

   My Native Land--Good Night!

Childe Harold's Pilgrimage Canto I Part 3

Listen to:

Childe Harold's Pilgrimage Canto I Part 3 (1:59)

by George Gordon, Lord Byron

performed by Bob Gonzalez, rhapsode

XI.

   His house, his home, his heritage, his lands,

   The laughing dames in whom he did delight,

   Whose large blue eyes, fair locks, and snowy hands,

   Might shake the saintship of an anchorite,

   And long had fed his youthful appetite;

   His goblets brimmed with every costly wine,

   And all that mote to luxury invite,     may, might

   Without a sigh he left to cross the brine,

And traverse Paynim shores, and pass earth's central line.    

XII.

   The sails were filled, and fair the light winds blew

   As glad to waft him from his native home;

   And fast the white rocks faded from his view,

   And soon were lost in circumambient foam;

   And then, it may be, of his wish to roam

   Repented he, but in his bosom slept

   The silent thought, nor from his lips did come

   One word of wail, whilst others sate and wept,

And to the reckless gales unmanly moaning kept.

XIII.

   But when the sun was sinking in the sea,

   He seized his harp, which he at times could string,

   And strike, albeit with untaught melody,

   When deemed he no strange ear was listening:

   And now his fingers o'er it he did fling,

   And tuned his farewell in the dim twilight,

   While flew the vessel on her snowy wing,

   And fleeting shores receded from his sight,

Thus to the elements he poured his last 'Good Night.'

Adieu, adieu! my native shore

   Fades o'er the waters blue;

The night-winds sigh, the breakers roar,

   And shrieks the wild sea-mew.      

Yon sun that sets upon the sea

   We follow in his flight;

Farewell awhile to him and thee,

   My Native Land--Good Night!  

Childe Harold's Pilgrimage Canto I Part 2

Listen to:

Childe Harold's Pilgrimage Canto I Part 2 (2:46)

by George Gordon, Lord Byron

performed by Bob Gonzalez, rhapsode

VI.

   And now Childe Harold was sore sick at heart,

   And from his fellow bacchanals would flee;

   'Tis said, at times the sullen tear would start,

   But pride congealed the drop within his e'e:

   Apart he stalked in joyless reverie,

   And from his native land resolved to go,

   And visit scorching climes beyond the sea;

   With pleasure drugged, he almost longed for woe,

And e'en for change of scene would seek the shades below.

VII.

   The Childe departed from his father's hall;

   It was a vast and venerable pile;

   So old, it seemed only not to fall,

   Yet strength was pillared in each massy aisle.

   Monastic dome! condemned to uses vile!

   Where superstition once had made her den,

   Now Paphian girls were known to sing and smile;

   And monks might deem their time was come agen,

If ancient tales say true, nor wrong these holy men.

VIII.

   Yet ofttimes in his maddest mirthful mood,

   Strange pangs would flash along Childe Harold's brow,

   As if the memory of some deadly feud

   Or disappointed passion lurked below:

   But this none knew, nor haply cared to know;

   For his was not that open, artless soul

   That feels relief by bidding sorrow flow;

   Nor sought he friend to counsel or condole,

Whate'er this grief mote be, which he could not control.

IX.

   And none did love him:  though to hall and bower

   He gathered revellers from far and near,

   He knew them flatterers of the festal hour;

   The heartless parasites of present cheer.

   Yea, none did love him--not his lemans dear -  

   But pomp and power alone are woman's care,

   And where these are light Eros finds a feere;    

   Maidens, like moths, are ever caught by glare,

And Mammon wins his way where seraphs might despair.

X.

   Childe Harold had a mother--not forgot,

   Though parting from that mother he did shun;

   A sister whom he loved, but saw her not

   Before his weary pilgrimage begun:

   If friends he had, he bade adieu to none.

   Yet deem not thence his breast a breast of steel;

   Ye, who have known what 'tis to dote upon

   A few dear objects, will in sadness feel

Such partings break the heart they fondly hope to heal.

Childe Harold's Pilgrimage Canto I Part 1

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Childe Harold's Pilgrimage Canto I Part 1 (2:48)

by George Gordon, Lord Byron

performed by Bob Gonzalez, rhapsode

I.

   Oh, thou, in Hellas deemed of heavenly birth,
   Muse, formed or fabled at the minstrel's will!
   Since shamed full oft by later lyres on earth,
   Mine dares not call thee from thy sacred hill:
   Yet there I've wandered by thy vaunted rill;
   Yes! sighed o'er Delphi's long-deserted shrine
   Where, save that feeble fountain, all is still;
   Nor mote my shell awake the weary Nine
To grace so plain a tale--this lowly lay of mine.

II.

   Whilome in Albion's isle there dwelt a youth,
   Who ne in virtue's ways did take delight;
   But spent his days in riot most uncouth,
   And vexed with mirth the drowsy ear of Night.
   Ah, me! in sooth he was a shameless wight,
   Sore given to revel and ungodly glee;
   Few earthly things found favour in his sight
   Save concubines and carnal companie,
And flaunting wassailers of high and low degree.

III.

   Childe Harold was he hight: --but whence his name
   And lineage long, it suits me not to say;
   Suffice it, that perchance they were of fame,
   And had been glorious in another day:
   But one sad losel soils a name for aye,  
   However mighty in the olden time;
   Nor all that heralds rake from coffined clay,
   Nor florid prose, nor honeyed lines of rhyme,
Can blazon evil deeds, or consecrate a crime.


IV.

   Childe Harold basked him in the noontide sun,
   Disporting there like any other fly,
   Nor deemed before his little day was done  
   One blast might chill him into misery.
   But long ere scarce a third of his passed by,
   Worse than adversity the Childe befell;    
   He felt the fulness of satiety:
   Then loathed he in his native land to dwell,
Which seemed to him more lone than eremite's sad cell.

V.

   For he through Sin's long labyrinth had run,
   Nor made atonement when he did amiss,
   Had sighed to many, though he loved but one,
   And that loved one, alas, could ne'er be his.
   Ah, happy she! to 'scape from him whose kiss
   Had been pollution unto aught so chaste;
   Who soon had left her charms for vulgar bliss,
   And spoiled her goodly lands to gild his waste,
Nor calm domestic peace had ever deigned to taste.

London

Listen to:

London (:59)

by William Blake

performed by Bob Gonzalez, rhapsode

I wander thro' each charter'd street,
Near where the charter'd Thames does flow.
And mark in every face I meet
Marks of weakness, marks of woe.

In every cry of every Man,
In every Infants cry of fear,
In every voice: in every ban,
The mind-forg'd manacles I hear

How the Chimney-sweepers cry
Every blackning Church appalls,
And the hapless Soldiers sigh
Runs in blood down Palace walls

But most thro' midnight streets I hear
How the youthful Harlots curse
Blasts the new-born Infants tear
And blights with plagues the Marriage hearse

A Poison Tree

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A Poison Tree (:57)

by William Blake

performed by Bob Gonzalez, rhapsode

I was angry with my friend;
I told my wrath, my wrath did end.
I was angry with my foe:
I told it not, my wrath did grow.

And I waterd it in fears,
Night & morning with my tears:
And I sunned it with smiles,
And with soft deceitful wiles.

And it grew both day and night.
Till it bore an apple bright.
And my foe beheld it shine,
And he knew that it was mine.

And into my garden stole,
When the night had veild the pole;
In the morning glad I see;
My foe outstretched beneath the tree.

The Garden of Love

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The Garden of Love (:49)

by William Blake

performed by Bob Gonzalez, rhapsode

I went to the Garden of Love,
And saw what I never had seen:
A Chapel was built in the midst,
Where I used to play on the green.

And the gates of this Chapel were shut,
And Thou shalt not. writ over the door;
So I turn'd to the Garden of Love,
That so many sweet flowers bore.

And I saw it was filled with graves,
And tomb-stones where flowers should be:
And Priests in black gowns, were walking their rounds,
And binding with briars, my joys & desires.

The Smile

Listen to:

The Smile (:54)

by William Blake

performed by Bob Gonzalez, rhapsode

There is a Smile of Love
And there is a Smile of Deceit
And there is a Smile of Smiles
In which these two Smiles meet

And there is a Frown of Hate
And there is a Frown of disdain
And there is a Frown of Frowns
Which you strive to forget in vain

For it sticks in the Hearts deep Core
And it sticks in the deep Back bone
And no Smile that ever was smild
But only one Smile alone

That betwixt the Cradle & Grave
It only once Smild can be
But when it once is Smild
Theres an end to all Misery

To Morning

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To Morning (:43)

by William Blake

performed by Bob Gonzalez, rhapsode

O holy virgin! clad in purest white,
Unlock heav'n's golden gates, and issue forth;
Awake the dawn that sleeps in heaven; let light
Rise from the chambers of the east, and bring
The honied dew that cometh on waking day.
O radiant morning, salute the sun,
Rouz'd like a huntsman to the chace; and, with
Thy buskin'd feet, appear upon our hills.

To the Mocking-Bird

Listen to:

To the Mocking-Bird (1:09)

by Richard Henry Wilde (1789–1847)

performed by Bob Gonzalez, rhapsode

Winged mimic of the woods! thou motley fool!
  Who shall thy gay buffoonery describe?
Thine ever ready notes of ridicule
  Pursue thy fellows still with jest and gibe.
  Wit, sophist, songster, Yorick of thy tribe,
Thou sportive satirist of Nature’s school,
  To thee the palm of scoffing we ascribe,
Arch-mocker and mad Abbot of Misrule!
  For such thou art by day—but all night long
Thou pourest a soft, sweet, pensive, solemn strain,
  As if thou didst in this thy moonlight song
Like to the melancholy Jacques complain,
  Musing on falsehood, folly, vice, and wrong,
And sighing for thy motley coat again.

The Tortoise and the Hare

Listen to:

The Tortoise and the Hare (1:01)

by Babrius

turned into English metre by James Davies, M.A. (1860)

performed by Bob Gonzalez, rhapsode

To the shy hare the tortoise smiling spoke,
When he about her feet began to joke:
"I'll pass thee by, though fleeter than the gale."
"Pooh!" said the hare, "I don't believe thy tale.
Try but one course, and thou my speed shalt know."
"Who'll fix the prize, and whither we shall go?"
Of the fleet-footed hare the tortoise asked.
To whom he answered, "Reynard shall be tasked
With this; that subtle fox, whom thou dost see."
The tortoise then (no hesitater she!)
Kept jogging on, but earliest reached the post;
The hare, relying on his fleetness, lost
Space, during sleep, he thought he could recover
When he awoke. But then the race was over;
The tortoise gained her aim, and slept her sleep.
From negligence doth care the vantage reap.

The Lamp

Listen to:

The Lamp (:32)

by Babrius

turned into English metre by James Davies, M.A. (1860)

performed by Bob Gonzalez, rhapsode

A lamp that swam with oil, began to boast
At eve, that it outshone the starry host,
And gave more light to all. Her boast was heard:
Soon the wind whistled; soon the breezes stirred,
And quenched its light. A man rekindled it,
And said, "Brief is the faint lamp's boasting fit,
But the starlight ne'er needs to be re-lit."

The Woman and Her Maid-Servants

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The Woman and Her Maid-Servants (:54)

by Babrius

turned into English metre by James Davies, M.A. (1860)

performed by Bob Gonzalez, rhapsode

A very careful dame, of busy way,
Kept maids at home, and these, ere break of day,
She used to raise as early as cock-crow.
They thought 'twas hard to be awakened so,
And o'er wool-spinning be at work so long;
Hence grew within them all a purpose strong
To kill the house-cock, whom they thought to blame
For all their wrongs. But no advantage came;
Worse treatment than the former them befell:
For when the hour their mistress could not tell
At which by night the cock was wont to crow,
She roused them earlier, to their work to go.
A harder lot the wretched maids endured.
Bad judgment oft hath such results procured.

The Pine

Listen to:

The Pine (:39)

by Babrius

turned into English metre by James Davies, M.A. (1860)

performed by Bob Gonzalez, rhapsode

Some woodmen, bent a forest pine to split,
Into each fissure sundry wedges fit,
To keep the void and render work more light.
Out groaned the pine, "Why should I vent my spite
Against the axe which never touched my root,
So much as these cursed wedges, mine own fruit;
Which rend me through, inserted here and there!"
A fable this, intended to declare
That not so dreadful is a stranger's blow
As wrongs which men receive from those they know.

The Husbandman and the Stork

Listen to:

The Husbandman and the Stork (:58)

by Babrius

turned into English metre by James Davies, M.A. (1860)

performed by Bob Gonzalez, rhapsode

Thin nets a farmer o'er his furrows spread,
And caught the cranes that on his tillage fed;
And him a limping stork began to pray,
Who fell with them into the farmer's way:--
"I am no crane: I don't consume the grain:
That I'm a stork is from my color plain;
A stork, than which no better bird doth live;
I to my father aid and succor give."
The man replied:--"Good stork, I cannot tell
Your way of life: but this I know full well,
I caught you with the spoilers of my seed;
With them, with whom I found you, you must bleed."
Walk with the bad, and hate will be as strong
'Gainst you as them, e'en though you no man wrong.

The Nightingale and the Swallow

Listen to:

The Nightingale and the Swallow (1:52)

by Babrius

turned into English metre by James Davies, M.A. (1860)

performed by Bob Gonzalez, rhapsode

Far from men's fields the swallow forth had flown,
When she espied amid the woodlands lone
The nightingale, sweet songstress. Her lament
Was Itys to his doom untimely sent.
Each knew the other through the mournful strain,
Flew to embrace, and in sweet talk remain.
Then said the swallow, "Dearest, liv'st thou still?
Ne'er have I seen thee, since thy Thracian ill.
Some cruel fate hath ever come between;
Our virgin lives till now apart have been.
Come to the fields; revisit homes of men;
Come dwell with me, a comrade dear, again,
Where thou shalt charm the swains, no savage brood:
Dwell near men's haunts, and quit the open wood:
One roof, one chamber, sure, can house the two,
Or dost prefer the nightly frozen dew,
And day-god's heat? a wild-wood life and drear?
Come, clever songstress, to the light more near."
To whom the sweet-voiced nightingale replied:--
"Still on these lonesome ridges let me bide;
Nor seek to part me from the mountain glen:--
I shun, since Athens, man, and haunts of men;
To mix with them, their dwelling-place to view,
Stirs up old grief, and opens woes anew."
Some consolation for an evil lot
Lies in wise words, in song, in crowds forgot.
But sore the pang, when, where you once were great,
Again men see you, housed in mean estate.

The Arab and the Camel

IMAGE
Listen to:

The Arab and the Camel (:17)

by Babrius

turned into English metre by James Davies, M.A. (1860)

performed by Bob Gonzalez, rhapsode

An Arab, having heaped his camel's back,
Asked if he chose to take the upward track
Or downward; and the beast had sense to say
"Am I cut off then from the level way?"

The Young Cocks

Listen to:

The Young Cocks (:46)

by Babrius

turned into English metre by James Davies, M.A. (1860)

performed by Bob Gonzalez, rhapsode

Two Tanagraean cocks a fight began;
Their spirit is, 'tis said, as that of man:
Of these the beaten bird, a mass of blows,
For shame into a corner creeping goes;
The other to the housetop quickly flew,
And there in triumph flapped his wings and crew.
But him an eagle lifted from the roof,
And bore away. His fellow gained a proof
That oft the wages of defeat are best,--
None else remained the hens to interest.
WHEREFORE, O man, beware of boastfulness:
Should fortune lift thee, others to depress,
Many are saved by lack of her caress.

The Carter and Hercules

Listen to:

The Carter and Hercules (:31)

by Babrius

turned into English metre by James Davies, M.A. (1860)

performed by Bob Gonzalez, rhapsode

A carter from the village drove his wain:
And when it fell into a rugged lane,
Inactive stood, nor lent a helping hand;
But to that god, whom of the heavenly band
He really honored most, Alcides, prayed:
"Push at your wheels," the god appearing said,
"And goad your team; but when you pray again,
Help yourself likewise, or you'll pray in vain."

The Fox and the Grapes

Listen to:

The Fox and the Grapes (:30)

by Babrius

turned into English metre by James Davies, M.A. (1860)

performed by Bob Gonzalez, rhapsode

There hung some bunches of the purple grape
On a hillside. A cunning fox, agape
For these full clusters, many times essayed
To cull their dark bloom, many vain leaps made.
They were quite ripe, and for the vintage fit;
But when his leaps did not avail a whit,
He journeyed on, and thus his grief composed:--
"The bunch was sour, not ripe, as I supposed."

The Mouse That Fell into the Pot

Listen to:

The Mouse That Fell into the Pot (:27)

by Babrius

turned into English metre by James Davies, M.A. (1860)

performed by Bob Gonzalez, rhapsode

A mouse into a lidless broth-pot fell;
Choked with the grease, and bidding life farewell,
He said, "My fill of meat and drink have I
And all good things: 'Tis time that I should die."
Thou art that dainty mouse among mankind,
If hurtful sweets are not by thee declined.

Jupiter and the Monkey

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Jupiter and the Monkey  (:42)

by Babrius

turned into English metre by James Davies, M.A. (1860)

performed by Bob Gonzalez, rhapsode

A baby-show with prizes Jove decreed
For all the beasts, and gave the choice due heed.
A monkey-mother came among the rest;
A naked, snub-nosed pug upon her breast
She bore, in mother's fashion. At the sight
Assembled gods were moved to laugh outright.
Said she, "Jove knoweth where his prize will fall!
I know my child's the beauty of them all."
This fable will a general law attest,
That each one deems that what's his own, is best.

The North Wind and the Sun

Listen to:

The North Wind and the Sun (1:06)

by Babrius

turned into English metre by James Davies, M.A. (1860)

performed by Bob Gonzalez, rhapsode

Betwixt the North wind and the Sun arose
A contest, which would soonest of his clothes
Strip a wayfaring clown, so runs the tale.
First, Boreas blows an almost Thracian gale,
Thinking, perforce, to steal the man's capote:
He loosed it not; but as the cold wind smote
More sharply, tighter round him drew the folds,
And sheltered by a crag his station holds.
But now the Sun at first peered gently forth,
And thawed the chills of the uncanny North;
Then in their turn his beams more amply plied,
Till sudden heat the clown's endurance tried;
Stripping himself, away his cloak he flung:
The Sun from Boreas thus a triumph wrung.
The fable means, "My son, at mildness aim:
Persuasion more results than force may claim."

To the Evening Star

Listen to:

To the Evening Star (1:08)

by William Blake

performed by Bob Gonzalez, rhapsode

Thou fair-hair'd angel of the evening,

Now, whilst the sun rests on the mountains, light

Thy bright torch of love; thy radiant crown

Put on, and smile upon our evening bed!

Smile on our loves, and while thou drawest the

Blue curtains of the sky, scatter thy silver dew

On every flower that shuts its sweet eyes

In timely sleep. Let thy west wind sleep on

The lake; speak silence with thy glimmering eyes,

And wash the dusk with silver. Soon, full soon,

Dost thou withdraw; then the wolf rages wide,

And the lion glares thro' the dun forest:

The fleeces of our flocks are cover'd with

Thy sacred dew: protect them with thine influence.

Let Your Soul Stand Cool

Listen to:

Let Your Soul Stand Cool (1:06)

by Walt Whitman

performed by Bob Gonzalez, rhapsode

from Song of Myself by Walt Whitman

   

I have said that the soul is not more than the body,

And I have said that the body is not more than the soul,

And nothing, not God, is greater to one than one's self is,

And whoever walks a furlong without sympathy walks to his own

    funeral drest in his shroud,

And I or you pocketless of a dime may purchase the pick of the earth,

And to glance with an eye or show a bean in its pod confounds the

    learning of all times,

And there is no trade or employment but the young man following it

    may become a hero,

And there is no object so soft but it makes a hub for the wheel'd universe,

And I say to any man or woman, Let your soul stand cool and composed

    before a million universes.

Death Be Not Proud

Listen to:

Death Be Not Proud (1:17)

by John Donne

performed by Bob Gonzalez, rhapsode

Death be not proud, though some have called thee
Mighty and dreadful, for thou art not so,
For those whom thou think'st thou dost overthrow,
Die not, poor death, nor yet canst thou kill me.
From rest and sleep, which but thy pictures be,
Much pleasure, then from thee, much more must flow,
And soonest our best men with thee do go,
Rest of their bones, and soul's delivery.
Thou art slave to Fate, Chance, kings, and desperate men,
And dost with poison, war, and sickness dwell,
And poppy, or charms can make us sleep as well,
And better than thy stroke; why swell'st thou then?
One short sleep past, we wake eternally,
And death shall be no more; death, thou shalt die.

Sonnet 23: Methought I Saw My Late Espoused Saint

Listen to:

Sonnet 23: Methought I Saw My Late Espoused Saint (1:02)

by John Milton

performed by Bob Gonzalez, rhapsode

Methought I saw my late espoused saint
       Brought to me, like Alcestis, from the grave,
       Whom Jove's great son to her glad husband gave,
       Rescu'd from death by force, though pale and faint.
Mine, as whom wash'd from spot of child-bed taint
       Purification in the old Law did save,
       And such as yet once more I trust to have
       Full sight of her in Heaven without restraint,
Came vested all in white, pure as her mind;
       Her face was veil'd, yet to my fancied sight
       Love, sweetness, goodness, in her person shin'd
So clear as in no face with more delight.
       But Oh! as to embrace me she inclin'd,
       I wak'd, she fled, and day brought back my night.