And What Is So Intricate,

Yesternight The Sun Went Hence, And Yet Is Here Today.

From Rest And Sleep, Which But Thy Pictures Be, Much Pleasure, Then From Thee Much More, Must Flow, And Soonest Our Best Men With Thee Do Go, Rest Of Their Bones, And Soul's Delivery.

So In A Voice, So In A Shapeless Flame, Angels Affect Us Often.

If They Be Two, They Are Two So As Stiff Twin Compasses Are Two, Thy Soul The Fixt Foot, Makes No Show To Move, But Doth, If The Other Do.

No Spring Nor Summer Beauty Hath Such Grace As I Have Seen In One Autumnal Face.