If mine eyes can speak to do hearty errand, Or mine eyes' language she do hap to judge of, So that eyes' message be of her received, Hope, we do live yet. But if eyes fail then, when I most do need them, Or if eyes' language be not unto her known, So that eyes' message do return rejected, Hope, we do both die. Yet, dying, and dead, do we sing her honor; So become our tombs monuments of her praise; So becomes our loss the triumph of her gain; Hers be the glory. If the senseless spheres do yet hold a music, If the swan's sweet voice be not heard, but at death, If the mute timber when it hath the life lost, Yieldeth a lute's tune, Are then human minds privileged so meanly As that hateful death can abridge them of power With the voice of truth to record to all worlds That we be her spoils? Thus, not ending, ends the due praise of her praise; Fleshly veil consumes, but a soul hath his life, Which is held in love, love it is, that hath joined Life to this our soul. But if eyes can speak to do hearty errand, Or mine eyes' language she do hap to judge of, So that eyes' message be of her received, Hope, we do live yet. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...POE'S COTTAGE AT FORDHAM by JOHN HENRY BONER THE CANONIZATION by JOHN DONNE THE EMULATION by SARAH FYGE EGERTON THE HOUSEKEEPER by CHARLES LAMB THE NIGHT COURT by RUTH COMFORT MITCHELL TO MY FRIENDS, WHO RIDICULED A TENDER LEAVE-TAKING by MATTHEW ARNOLD TO MR. BARBAULD, WITH A MAP OF THE LAND OF MATRIMONY by ANNA LETITIA BARBAULD |