And he mourns in touching melancholy verse the death of the loved one, and in sweet strains laments
The purest soul, that e’er was sent
Into a clayey tenement,
Informed this dust, but the weak mould
Could the great guest no longer hold,
The substance was too pure, the flame
Too glorious, that hither came.
Does he celebrate the beauties of the natural world, he is sure to institute a comparison of those beauties with the charms of his mistress—and in his glowing language, “winter’s snow-white robes” “and blue-eyed spring” welcomed to the earth “by a choir of chirping minstrels” shrink into insignificance by the comparison. Does he pine away, banished from the presence of his mistress, he compares himself with happy conceit “to one far from the shore in a storm-beaten boat, where love is the pilot,”
but o’ercome with fear
Of her displeasure, dares not homeward steer.