Here but one look tow’rd heavèn will repress
The crushing weight of undelightful care;
But what were there beyond, if weariness
Should ever enter there?
XXV.
Yet do not sweetest things here soonest cloy?
Satiety the life of joy would kill,
If sweet with bitter, pleasure with annoy
Were not attempered still.
XXVI.
This mood endured, till every act of love,
Vigils of praise and prayer, and midnight choir,
All shadows of the service done above,
And which, while his desire,
XXVII.
And while his hope was heav’nward, he had loved,
As helps to disengage him from the chain
That fastens unto earth—all these now proved
Most burdensome and vain.
XXVIII.
What must have been the issue of that mood
It were a thing to fear—but that one day,
Upon the limits of an ancient wood,
His thoughts him led astray.