Oxford Book of English Verse, Part 2 by  Arthur Quiller-Couch

A Hymn

O fly, my Soul! What hangs upon

Thy drooping wings,

And weighs them down

With love of gaudy mortal things?


The Sun is now i' the east: each shade

As he doth rise

Is shorter made,

That earth may lessen to our eyes.


O be not careless then and play

Until the Star of Peace

Hide all his beams in dark recess!

Poor pilgrims needs must lose their way,

When all the shadows do increase.

— James Shirley
1596-1666   


 Table of Contents  |  Index  |  Home  | Previous: Love  |  Next: Death the Leveller
Copyright (c) 2005 - 2023   Yesterday's Classics, LLC. All Rights Reserved.