Fulke Greville Poems

O wearisome condition of humanity!
Born under one law, to another bound;
Vainly begot and yet forbidden vanity;
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CYNTHIA, because your horns look diverse ways,
Now darken'd to the east, now to the west,
Then at full-glory once in thirty days,
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I, with whose colours Myra dress'd her head,
I, that ware posies of her own hand-making,
I, that mine own name in the chimneys read
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ABSENCE, the noble truce
Of Cupid's war,
Where though desires want use,
They honor'd are,
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Oh, wearisome condition of humanity,
Born under one law, to another bound;
Vainly begot, and yet forbidden vanity,
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THE earth with thunder torn, with fire blasted,
With waters dron'd, with windy palsy shaken,
Cannot for this with heaven be distast'd,
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THE nurse-life wheat, within his green husk growing,
Flatters our hope and tickles our desire,
Nature's true riches in sweet beauties showing,
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THE world, that all contains, is ever moving;
The stars within their spheres forever turn'd;
Nature, the queen of change, to change is loving,
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YOU little stars that live in skies
And glory in Apollo's glory,
In whose aspects conjoined lies
The heaven's will and nature's story,
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In night when colors all to black are cast,
Distinction lost, or gone down with the light;
The eye a watch to inward senses placed,
Not seeing, yet still having powers of sight,
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