Hereafter, in a world better than this,
I shall desire more love and knowledge of you.
Beauty provoketh thieves sooner than gold.
Here feel we but the penalty of Adam, —
The season’s difference: as the icy fang
And churlish chiding of the winter’s wind,
Which when it bites and blows upon my body,
Even till I shrink with cold, I smile and say,
This is no flattery: these are counselors
That feelingly persuade me what I am.
Sweet are the uses of adversity;
Which, like the toad, ugly and venomous
Wears yet a precious jewel in his head;
And this our life, exempt from public haunt,
Finds tongues in trees, books in the running brooks,
Sermons in stones, and good in everything.
I would not change it.
Left and abandoned of his velvet friends;
I like this place,
And willingly could waste my time in it.
But whate’er you are
That in this desert inaccessible,
Under the shade of melancholy boughs,
Lose and neglect the creeping hours of time;
If ever you have looked on better days,
If ever been where bells have knoll’d to church,
If ever say at any good man’s feast,
If ever from your eyelids wip’d a tear,
And know what ’tis to pity and be pitied,
Let gentleness my strong enforcement be.
I do desire we may be better strangers.
O, that’s a brave man! He writes brave verses, speaks brave words, sears brave oaths and breaks them bravely.