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Peace, for whose presence did we erewhile callWith cry sincere, vowing (God knoweth, thosePrótests how passionate were) to love thee all,Yet when thou camest, pander’d to thy foesWeaklier than ever, now again the throesConvulse our being; now, Peace, may’st thou see,This lust-devoted land is not for thee.Farewell! Small wonder is it if thou fleeSuch faithlessness, yet doth thy memory stillDwell in each place where thou hast walked with me,In dawn’s fresh mead or by noon’s shady rill,Or when cool evening wafteth, on our hill;Allwheres that beauty’s comfort-laden breathSootheth tired sorrow till it slumbereth.
Peace, for whose presence did we erewhile callWith cry sincere, vowing (God knoweth, thosePrótests how passionate were) to love thee all,Yet when thou camest, pander’d to thy foesWeaklier than ever, now again the throesConvulse our being; now, Peace, may’st thou see,This lust-devoted land is not for thee.Farewell! Small wonder is it if thou fleeSuch faithlessness, yet doth thy memory stillDwell in each place where thou hast walked with me,In dawn’s fresh mead or by noon’s shady rill,Or when cool evening wafteth, on our hill;Allwheres that beauty’s comfort-laden breathSootheth tired sorrow till it slumbereth.
Peace, for whose presence did we erewhile callWith cry sincere, vowing (God knoweth, thosePrótests how passionate were) to love thee all,Yet when thou camest, pander’d to thy foesWeaklier than ever, now again the throesConvulse our being; now, Peace, may’st thou see,This lust-devoted land is not for thee.
Peace, for whose presence did we erewhile call
With cry sincere, vowing (God knoweth, those
Prótests how passionate were) to love thee all,
Yet when thou camest, pander’d to thy foes
Weaklier than ever, now again the throes
Convulse our being; now, Peace, may’st thou see,
This lust-devoted land is not for thee.
Farewell! Small wonder is it if thou fleeSuch faithlessness, yet doth thy memory stillDwell in each place where thou hast walked with me,In dawn’s fresh mead or by noon’s shady rill,Or when cool evening wafteth, on our hill;Allwheres that beauty’s comfort-laden breathSootheth tired sorrow till it slumbereth.
Farewell! Small wonder is it if thou flee
Such faithlessness, yet doth thy memory still
Dwell in each place where thou hast walked with me,
In dawn’s fresh mead or by noon’s shady rill,
Or when cool evening wafteth, on our hill;
Allwheres that beauty’s comfort-laden breath
Sootheth tired sorrow till it slumbereth.