The Flower of the Mind

								

ODE ON A GRECIAN URN                                             323
ODE TO AUTUMN                                                    325
ODE TO PSYCHE                                                    326
ODE TO MELANCHOLY                                                328
HARTLEY COLERIDGE (1796–1849).
SHE IS NOT FAIR                                                  329
NOTES                                                              331

ANONYMOUS
13TH CENTURY

THE FIRST CAROL

      SUMMER is y-comen in!

         Loud sing cuckoo!

      Groweth seed and bloweth mead,

         And springeth the wood new.

            Sing cuckoo! cuckoo!



      Ewe bleateth after lamb,

      Loweth cow after calf;

   Bullock starteth, buck verteth;

         Merry sing cuckoo!

            Cuckoo! cuckoo!

         Nor cease thou ever now.

         Sing cuckoo now!

            Sing cuckoo!

SIR WALTER RALEIGH
1552–1618

VERSES BEFORE DEATH

   EVEN such is time, that takes in trust

      Our youth, our joys, our all we have,

   And pays us but with earth and dust;

      Who, in the dark and silent grave,

   When we have wandered all our ways,

   Shuts up the story of our days;

   But from this earth, this grave, this dust,

   My God shall raise me up, I trust!

EDMUND SPENSER
1553–1599

EASTER

   MOST glorious Lord of life! that on this day

      Didst make thy triumph over death and sin;

   And, having harrowed hell, didst bring away

      Captivity then captive, us to win:

   This glorious day, dear Lord, with joy begin,

      And grant that we, for whom thou diddest die,

   Being with thy dear blood clean washed from sin,

      May live for ever in felicity!



   And that thy love we weighing worthily,

      May likewise love thee for the same again;

   And for thy sake, that all like dear didst buy,

      With love may one another entertain.

   So let us love, dear Love, like as we ought;

   Love is the lesson which the Lord us taught.

FRESH SPRING

   FRESH Spring, the herald of love’s mighty king,

      In whose coat-armour richly are displayed

   All sorts of flowers, the which on earth do spring

      In goodly colours gloriously arrayed:

   Go to my love, where she is careless laid,

      Yet in her winter bower not well awake;

   Tell her the joyous time will not be stayed,

      Unless she do him by the forelock take;



   Bid her therefore herself soon ready make,

      To wait on Love amongst his lovely crew;

   Where every one that misseth there her make

      Shall be by him amerced with penance due.

   Make haste therefore, sweet love, whilst it is prime,

      For none can call again the passed time.

LIKE AS A SHIP

   LIKE as a ship, that through the ocean wide,

      By conduct of some star doth make her way,

   When, as a storm hath dimmed her trusty guide,

      Out of her course doth wander far astray!