An Ode To Master Endymion Porter, Upon His Brother's Death
Not all thy flushing suns are set,
Herrick, as yet ;
Nor doth this far-drawn hemisphere
Frown and look sullen ev'rywhere.
Days may conclude in nights, and suns may rest
As dead within the west ;
Yet, the next morn, regild the fragrant east.
Alas ! for me, that I have lost
E'en all almost ;
Sunk is my sight, set is my sun,