The Art of Letters

by Robert Lynd

Let us not weigh them. Heav’n’s great lamps do dive

Into their west, and straight again revive.

But, soon as once is set our little light,

Then must we sleep our ever-during night.

Ladies in so bright and insecure a day must not be permitted to “let their lovers moan.” If they do, they will incur the just vengeance of the Fairy Queen Proserpina, who will send her attendant fairies to pinch their white hands and pitiless arms. Campion is the Fairy Queen’s court poet. He claims all men—perhaps, one ought rather to say all women—as her subjects:

In myrtle arbours on the downs

The Fairy Queen Proserpina,

This night by moonshine leading merry rounds,

Holds a watch with sweet love,

Down the dale, up the hill;