—Beyond where that Egean sea
Does sigh and mourn so oft,
There lies an isle delectable,
More pleasant, plain, and soft,
Than any other isle that is
Both wet and washed with sea,
Or warmed with the funny beams,
Or yet inflamed be.
In midst thereof there is a hill
Of shadow full and green,
With favour sweet, and fragrant scent,
With water sweet and clean;
Whose virtue is, and whole office,
To take out of the mind
All sad and pensive blots and marks,
That has with grief it pined.
This is the land wherewith so much
Fair Venus is content,
Which consecrat was to that queen,
That time, by men's consent,
While as the truth was lying hid,
And veritie unknown,
And Christ his incarnation
Was not revealed nor known.
And yet albeit this day it be
Of virtue lean and bare,
Yet does it hold, and it retains
Some customs keeped there—.
There then triumphed over us
That sovereign gentle lord,
And carried at his golden chair
There coupled in a cord.
These whom he took in circling so
The world round about,
Even from the Indes to Thule isle,
The westmost part without—.
There roses gathered in that time
When winter's blast does boast;
There ice even in the hottest days;
At midsummer, there frost.—
The valley where this triumph was
With murmurs did abound,
Of waters, brooks, of birds and fowls,
That gave a clamorous sound:
Whose banks were all embroidered
With flowers of variant hue,
Some red, some green, and some again
Red, yellow, and some blue.
And there besides, clear rivers from
So lively fountains ran,
Where then upon the cold fresh herbs
The sun to shine began.
There also was a shadow thick
Of trees both high and fair,
Out of the which there did come out
A sweet and breathing air.
And after, when the winter tide
Does make the season cold,
Yet there the sun so does his flames
Most temperately unfold;
And so does make the place and ground,
And meats, almost lew-warm,
That there an idleness all slow,
Does simple hearts encharm.—