Unutterable love. Sound needed none, Nor any voice of joy; his spirit drank The spectacle; sensation, soul, and form All melted into him; they swallowed up His animal being; in them did he live, And by them did he live; they were his life. In such access of mind, in such high hour Of visitation from the living God, Thought was not; in enjoyment it expired. No thanks he breathed, he proffered no request; Rapt into still communion that transcends The imperfect offices of prayer and praise, His mind was a thanksgiving to the power That made him; it was blessedness and love. Come, my Corinna, come; and coming, mark How each field turns a street, each street a park Made green, and trimm'd with trees; see how Devotion gives each house a bough, Or branch; each porch, each doore, ere this. An ark, a tabernacle is, Made up of white-thorn neatly interwove; As if here were those cooler shades of love. And sin no more, as we have done, by staying; But, my Corinna, come, let's go a-Maying. HERRICK. |