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1O my afflicted solitary soul,
2Why dost thou still in dust and ashes
3As if thou were not of celestial birth,
4Or thy beginning and thy end were earth?
5Believ’t, thou art a sparkle of that
6Which is invisible to our mortal sight;
7And thou art capable of endless bliss;
8Thou knowest nothing, if thou knowest not this.
9Enlarge thy hopes (poor soul), then reassume
10Thy ancient right; thou needs no borrowed
11For thou hast noble wings to take thy flight.
12Why dost thou in this
13We talk of summers and delicious springs;
resolvéd5here are no such things.
15Of flowery valleys and
16Of shady groves, and
17We do but dream: in them, we laugh or weep,
18And never wake until in death we sleep.
19Then what’s this world we keep
20We weeping enter, and go, sighing, out.
21(Ay me!) this thought of death my courage dashes;
22Must I and mine turn all to dust and ashes?
23Death hath already from my weeping vine
Torn seven fair branches10; the grief and loss is mine,
25The joy is theirs, who now in glory shine,
26And as they were to me of infinite price,
27So now they planted are in paradise
28Where their immaculate, pure,
29Are now enthroned above the stars or
Where they enjoy all fullness of desire13.
31O when shall I increase that heavenly choir?