2 The stricken deer by kind
Of death that stands in awe,
For his recure an herb can find
The arrow to withdraw.
3 The chased deer hath soil
To cool him in his heat;
The ass, after his weary toil.
In stable is up set.
4 The coney hath its cave,
The little bird his nest,
From heat and cold themselves to save
At all times as they list.
5 The owl, with feeble sight,
Lies lurking in the leaves,
The sparrow in the frosty night
May shroud her in the eaves.
6 But woe to me, alas!
In sun nor yet in shade,
I cannot find a resting-place,
My burden to unlade.
7 But day by day still bears
The burden on my back,
With weeping eyes and wat'ry tears,
To hold my hope aback.
8 All things I see have place
Wherein they bow or bend,
Save this, alas! my woful case,
Which nowhere findeth end.
FROM 'THE PHOENIX' NEST.'
O Night, O jealous Night, repugnant to my pleasure,
O Night so long desired, yet cross to my content,
There's none but only thou can guide me to my treasure,
Yet none but only thou that hindereth my intent.
Sweet Night, withhold thy beams, withhold them till to-morrow,
Whose joy, in lack so long, a hell of torment breeds,
Sweet Night, sweet gentle Night, do not prolong my sorrow,
Desire is guide to me, and love no loadstar needs.