House of Bondage
I
WHEN I perceive Love’s heavenly reaping stillRegard perforce the clouds’ vicissitude,That the fixed spirit loves not when it will,But craves its seasons of the flawful blood;When I perceive that the high poet dothOft voiceless stray beneath the uninfluent stars,That even Urania of her kiss is loath,And Song’s brave wings fret on their sensual bars;When I perceived the fullest-sailèd spriteLag at most need upon the lethèd seas,The provident captainship oft voided quite,And lamèd lie deep-draughted argosies;I scorn myself, that put for such strange toysThe wit of man to purposes of boys.
II
The spirit’s ark sealed with a little clay,Was old ere Memphis grew a memory; 190The hand pontifical to break awayThat seal what shall surrender? Not the seaWhich did englut great Egypt and his war,Nor all the desert-drownèd sepulchres.Love’s feet are stained with clay and travel-sore,And dusty are Song’s lucent wing and hairs.O Love, that must do courtesy to decay,Eat hasty bread standing with loins up-girt,How shall this stead thy feet for their sore way?Ah, Song, what brief embraces balm thy hurt!Had Jacob’s toil full guerdon, casting hisTwice-seven heaped years to burn in Rachel’s kiss?