The Flower of the Mind

								


   So I, whose star, that wont with her bright ray

      Me to direct, with clouds is overcast,

   Do wander now, in darkness and dismay,

      Through hidden perils round about me placed;



   Yet hope I well that, when this storm is past,

      My Helice, the loadstar of my life,

   Will shine again, and look on me at last,

      With lovely light to clear my cloudy grief:

   Till then I wander, careful, comfortless,

   In secret sorrow and sad pensiveness.

EPITHALAMION

   YE learned sisters, which have oftentimes

   Been to me aiding, others to adorn,

   Whom ye thought worthy of your graceful rhymes,

   That even the greatest did not greatly scorn

   To hear their names sung in your simple lays,

   But joyed in their praise;

   And when ye list your own mishaps to mourn,

   Which death, or love, or fortune’s wreck did raise,

   Your string could soon to sadder tenor turn,

   And teach the woods and waters to lament

   Your doleful dreariment:

   Now lay those sorrowful complaints aside;

   And, having all your heads with garlands crowned,

   Help me mine own love’s praises to resound;

   Ne let the same of any be envied:

   So Orpheus did for his own bride!

   So I unto myself alone will sing;

   The woods shall to me answer, and my echo ring.



   Early, before the world’s light-giving lamp

   His golden beam upon the hills doth spread,

   Having dispersed the night’s uncheerful damp,

   Do ye awake; and, with fresh lusty-head,

   Go to the bower of my beloved love,

   My truest turtle dove;

   Bid her awake; for Hymen is awake,

   And long since ready forth his mask to move,

   With his bright tead that names with many a flake,

   And many a bachelor to wait on him,

   In their fresh garments trim.

   Bid her awake therefore, and soon her dight,

   For lo! the wished day is come at last,

   That shall, for all the pains and sorrows past,

   Pay to her usury of long delight:

   And, whilst she doth her dight,

   Do ye to her of joy and solace sing,

   That all the woods may answer, and your echo ring.



   Bring with you all the Nymphs that you can hear

   Both of the rivers and the forests green,

   And of the sea that neighbours to her near:

   All with gay garlands goodly well beseen.

   And let them also with them bring in hand

   Another gay garland,

   For my fair love, of lilies and of roses,

   Bound truelove wise, with a blue silk riband.

   And let them make great store of bridal posies,

   And let them eke bring store of other flowers,

   To deck the bridal bowers.

   And let the ground whereas her foot shall tread,

   For fear the stones her tender foot should wrong,

   Be strewed with fragrant flowers all along,

   And diapred like the discoloured mead.

   Which done, do at her chamber door await,

   For she will waken straight;

   The whiles do ye this song unto her sing,

   The woods shall to you answer, and your echo ring.