Feasts satiate; stars distress with height; Friendship means well, but misses reach, And wearies in its best delight Vex'd with the vanities of speech; Too long regarded, roses even Afflict the mind with fond unrest; And to converse direct with Heaven Is oft a labour in the breast; Whate'er the up-looking soul admires, Whate'er the senses' banquet be, Fatigues at last with vain desires, Or sickens by satiety; But truly my delight was more In her to whom I'm bound for aye Yesterday than the day before, And more to-day than yesterday. |