O in what haste, with clouds and night
Eclips'd, and having lost her light,
The dull soul whom distraction rends
Into outward darkness tends!
How often—by these mists made blind—
Have earthly cares oppress'd the mind!
This soul, sometimes wont to survey
The spangled Zodiac's fiery way,
Saw th' early sun in roses dress'd,
With the cool moon's unstable crest,
And whatsoever wanton star,
In various courses near or far,
Pierc'd through the orbs, he could full well
Track all her journey, and would tell
Her mansions, turnings, rise and fall,
By curious calculation all.
Of sudden winds the hidden cause,
And why the calm sea's quiet face
With impetuous waves is curl'd,
What spirit wheels th' harmonious world,
Or why a star dropp'd in the west
Is seen to rise again by east,
Who gives the warm Spring temp'rate hours,
Decking the Earth with spicy flow'rs,
Or how it comes—for man's recruit—
That Autumn yields both grape and fruit,
With many other secrets, he
Could show the cause and mystery.
But now that light is almost out,
And the brave soul lies chain'd about
With outward cares, whose pensive weight
Sinks down her eyes from their first height.
And clean contrary to her birth
Pores on this vile and foolish Earth.