RETROSPECT.

Alas, and I have sung

Much song of matters vain,

And a heaven-sweetened tongue

Turned to unprofiting strain

Of vacant things, which though

Even so they be, and throughly so,

It is no boot at all for thee to know,

But babble and false pain.

What profit if the sun

Put forth his radiant thews,

And on his circuit run,

Even after my device, to this and to that use;

And the true Orient, Christ,

Make not His cloud of thee?

I have sung vanity,

And nothing well devised.

And though the cry of stars

Give tongue before his way

Goldenly as I say,

And each from wide Saturnus to hot Mars

He calleth by its name,

Lest that its bright feet stray;

And thou have lore of all,

But to thine own Sun's call

Thy path disorbed hast never wit to tame;

It profits not withal,

And my rede is but lame.

Only that,‘ mid vain vaunt

Of wisdom ignorant,

A little kiss upon the feet of Love

My hasty verse has stayed

Sometimes a space to plant:

It has not wholly strayed,

Not wholly missed near sweet, fanning proud plumes above.

Therefore I do repent

That with religion vain,

And misconceiv-ed pain,

I have my music bent

To waste on bootless things its skiey-gendered rain:

Yet shall a wiser day

Fulfil more heavenly way,

And with approv-ed music clear this slip

I trust in God most sweet;

Meantime the silent lip,

Meantime the climbing feet.