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Though frost and snow lock’d from mine eyes
That beauty which without door lies,
Thy gardens, orchards, walks, that so
I might not all thy pleasures know,
Yet,  thou within thy gate
Art of thyself so delicate,
So full of native sweets, that bless
Thy roof with inward happiness,
As neither from nor to thy store
Winter takes aught, or spring adds more.
The cold and frozen air had starv’d
Much poor, if not by thee preserv’d,
Whose prayers have made thy table blest
With plenty, far above the rest.
The season hardly did afford
Coarse cates unto thy neighbors’ board,
Yet thou hadst dainties, as the sky
Had only been thy volary;
Or else the birds, fearing the snow
Might to another Deluge grow,
The pheasant, partridge, and the lark
Flew to thy house, as to the Ark.
The willing ox of himself came
Home to the slaughter, with the lamb,
And every beast did thither bring
Himself, to be an offering.
The scaly herd more pleasure took,
Bath’d in thy dish, than in the brook;
Water, earth, air, did all conspire
To pay their tributes to thy fire,
Whose cherishing flames themselves divide
Through every room, where they deride
The night, and cold aboard; whilst they,
Like suns within, keep endless day.
Those cheerful beams send forth their light
To all that wander in the night,
And seem to beckon from aloof
The weary pilgrim to thy roof,
Where if, refresh’d, he will away,
He’s faily welcome; or if stay,
Far more; which he shall hearty find
Both from the master and the hind.
The stranger’s welcome each man there
Stamp’d on his cheerful brow doth wear,
Nor doth this welcome or his cheer
Grow less ‘cause he stays longer here;
There’s none observes, much less repines,
How often this man sups or dines.
Thou hast no porter at the door
T’examine or keep back the poor;
Nor locks nor bolts: thy gates have been
Made only to let strangers in;
Untaught to shut, they do not fear
To stand wide open all the year,
Careless who enters, for they know
Thou never didst deserve a foe;
And as for thieves, thy bounty’s such,
They cannot steal, thou giv’st so much.
Nancy Raj Jan 2016
Half of the night
Repines the eyes
It breaks into tears

Half of the day
Spent engrossing oneself
Into an empty fear

Half of the melody
Sung in despair
While the eyes peep out
Hoping that you'd hear

Half of the heart
Beats incautiously for an outlander
Who dwells inside

Half of the mind
Wishes to let go
That has ever or never been mine

Half of me almost
Bereft of life

Other half, around you still lays entwined!
Megan Sherman Feb 2017
last night i dreamt of the divine
its truth danced up to my side
knowing its truth my soul repines
because in past by evil i abide
married to the magician
who deceived us of our selves
i went among the earth and sung
the song of devil's wealth
but my sullied, broken spirit
is repaired by balm of cosmic joy
the divine: i've been ever near it
it's pleasures deep and coy
now i get to sing again
with a pleasure deep and wide as skies
going against the devil's grain
with my cryptic lullabies

— The End —