Ancient Poetry.Didstthou but know the inly touch of love,Thou would’st as soon go kindle fire with snowAs seek to quench the fire of love with words:The more thou damm’st it up, the more it burns.The current that with gentle murmur glides,Thou know’st, being stopp’d, impatiently doth rage;But when his fair course is not hindered,He makes sweet music with the enamel’d stones;Giving a gentle kiss to every sedgeHe overtaketh in his pilgrimage:And so by many winding nooks he straysWith willing sport, to the wild ocean.Then let me go, and hinder not my course;I’ll be as patient as a gentle stream,And make a pastime of each weary step,Till the last step have brought me to my love:And there I’ll rest, as after much turmoilA blessed soul doth in Elysium.
Ancient Poetry.Didstthou but know the inly touch of love,Thou would’st as soon go kindle fire with snowAs seek to quench the fire of love with words:The more thou damm’st it up, the more it burns.The current that with gentle murmur glides,Thou know’st, being stopp’d, impatiently doth rage;But when his fair course is not hindered,He makes sweet music with the enamel’d stones;Giving a gentle kiss to every sedgeHe overtaketh in his pilgrimage:And so by many winding nooks he straysWith willing sport, to the wild ocean.Then let me go, and hinder not my course;I’ll be as patient as a gentle stream,And make a pastime of each weary step,Till the last step have brought me to my love:And there I’ll rest, as after much turmoilA blessed soul doth in Elysium.
Didstthou but know the inly touch of love,Thou would’st as soon go kindle fire with snowAs seek to quench the fire of love with words:The more thou damm’st it up, the more it burns.The current that with gentle murmur glides,Thou know’st, being stopp’d, impatiently doth rage;But when his fair course is not hindered,He makes sweet music with the enamel’d stones;Giving a gentle kiss to every sedgeHe overtaketh in his pilgrimage:And so by many winding nooks he straysWith willing sport, to the wild ocean.Then let me go, and hinder not my course;I’ll be as patient as a gentle stream,And make a pastime of each weary step,Till the last step have brought me to my love:And there I’ll rest, as after much turmoilA blessed soul doth in Elysium.
Didstthou but know the inly touch of love,Thou would’st as soon go kindle fire with snowAs seek to quench the fire of love with words:The more thou damm’st it up, the more it burns.The current that with gentle murmur glides,Thou know’st, being stopp’d, impatiently doth rage;But when his fair course is not hindered,He makes sweet music with the enamel’d stones;Giving a gentle kiss to every sedgeHe overtaketh in his pilgrimage:And so by many winding nooks he straysWith willing sport, to the wild ocean.Then let me go, and hinder not my course;I’ll be as patient as a gentle stream,And make a pastime of each weary step,Till the last step have brought me to my love:And there I’ll rest, as after much turmoilA blessed soul doth in Elysium.
Didstthou but know the inly touch of love,Thou would’st as soon go kindle fire with snowAs seek to quench the fire of love with words:The more thou damm’st it up, the more it burns.The current that with gentle murmur glides,Thou know’st, being stopp’d, impatiently doth rage;But when his fair course is not hindered,He makes sweet music with the enamel’d stones;Giving a gentle kiss to every sedgeHe overtaketh in his pilgrimage:And so by many winding nooks he straysWith willing sport, to the wild ocean.Then let me go, and hinder not my course;I’ll be as patient as a gentle stream,And make a pastime of each weary step,Till the last step have brought me to my love:And there I’ll rest, as after much turmoilA blessed soul doth in Elysium.
Didstthou but know the inly touch of love,
Thou would’st as soon go kindle fire with snow
As seek to quench the fire of love with words:
The more thou damm’st it up, the more it burns.
The current that with gentle murmur glides,
Thou know’st, being stopp’d, impatiently doth rage;
But when his fair course is not hindered,
He makes sweet music with the enamel’d stones;
Giving a gentle kiss to every sedge
He overtaketh in his pilgrimage:
And so by many winding nooks he strays
With willing sport, to the wild ocean.
Then let me go, and hinder not my course;
I’ll be as patient as a gentle stream,
And make a pastime of each weary step,
Till the last step have brought me to my love:
And there I’ll rest, as after much turmoil
A blessed soul doth in Elysium.