JOHN DONNE. THE FAREWELL. As virtuous men pass mildly away, And whisper to their souls to go; Whilst some of their sad friends do say, HENRY RIPLEY DORR. DOOR AND WINDOW. THERE is a room, a stately room, Now filled with light, now wrapped in gloom. The breath goes now-and some say, There is a door, a steel-clad door, no; So let us melt and make no noise, No tear-floods, nor sigh-tempests move; 'Twere profanation of our joys To tell the laity our love. Moving of th' earth brings harms and fears, Men reckon what it did, and meant: Dull, sublunary lovers' love But we're by love so much refined, Our two souls, therefore (which are one), Though I must go, endure not yet If they be two, they are two so To move, but doth, if th' other do. And though it in the centre sit, Such wilt thou be to me, who must Lined with masses of hammered ore, Closed with a lock of Titan weight, Opened only by hand of Fate! There is a window, broad and old, Barred with irons of massive mould; Back from the window, closed and fast, Stretches the vista of the Past; A lengthening vista, faint and dim, Reaching beyond the horizon's rim. Men may wait at the window-sill And listen, listen - but all is still. Men may wait till their hairs are white, Through the hours of day and night; mourn that they cannot pass Over the pathway of the Past; Turn with me to the iron door Many a mortal has stood before! Lift the latch? It is fastened down! The hinges are flecked with a rusty brown. Batter away at its massive plates! Hark! do you hear the mocking Fates? 'Tis only the echoes that go and come Like the measured beats of a muffled drum! Some have too much, yet still they crave; I little have, yet seek no more, They are but poor, though much they have; And I am rich with little store. They poor, I rich; they beg, I give: They lack, Ilend; they pine, I live. I laugh not at another's loss, I grudge not at another's gain: No worldly wave my mind can toss; I brook that is another's bane. I fear no foe, nor fawn on friend; I loathe not life, nor dread mine end. I joy not in no earthly bliss; I weigh not Croesus' wealth a straw; For care, I care not what it is: I fear not fortune's fatal law; My mind is such as may not move For beauty bright, or force of love. I wish but what I have at will; I wander not to seek for more: I like the plain, I climb no hill; In greatest storms I sit on shore, And laugh at them that toil in vain To get what must be lost again. I kiss not where I wish to kill; I feign not love where most I hate; I break no sleep to win my will; I wait not at the mighty's gate. The court nor cart I like nor loathe; Extremes are counted worst of all; The golden mean betwixt them both Doth surest sit, and fears no fall; This is my choice; for why, I find No wealth is like a quiet mind. My wealth is health and perfect ease: My conscience clear my chief defence; I never seek by bribes to please, WILLIAM D. GALLAGHER. TWO APRILS. If true unto thyself thou wast, A feather, which thou mightest cast WHEN last the maple bud was swell- Aside, as idly as the blast, THE LABORER. STAND up, erect! Thou hast the form The light leaf from the tree. No:-uncurbed passions, low desires, With this, and passions under ban, And likeness of thy God!- who Look up, then, that thy little span more? A soul as dauntless mid the storm What then? Thou art as true a man Who is thine enemy? The high In station, or in wealth the chief? The great, who coldly pass thee by, With proud step and averted eye? Nay! nurse not such belief. Of life may be well trod. |