36
COWLEY'S POEMS.
For making thee my deity,
I gave thee then ubiquity.
My pains resemble hell in this;
The divine presence there too is,
But to torment men, not to give them bliss.
I gave thee then ubiquity.
My pains resemble hell in this;
The divine presence there too is,
But to torment men, not to give them bliss.
ALL-OVER LOVE.
'T is well, 't is well with them, say I,
Whose short-liv'd passions with themselves can die;
For none can be unhappy, who,
'Midst all his ills, a time does know
(Though ne'er so long) when he shall not be so.
Whose short-liv'd passions with themselves can die;
For none can be unhappy, who,
'Midst all his ills, a time does know
(Though ne'er so long) when he shall not be so.
Whatever parts of me remain,
Those parts will still the love of thee retain;
For 't was not only in my heart.
But, like a God, by powerful art
'T was all in all, and all in every part.
Those parts will still the love of thee retain;
For 't was not only in my heart.
But, like a God, by powerful art
'T was all in all, and all in every part.
My affection no more perish can
Than the first matter that compounds a man.
Hereafter, if one dust of me
Mix'd with another's substance be,
'T will leaven that whole lump with love of thee.
Than the first matter that compounds a man.
Hereafter, if one dust of me
Mix'd with another's substance be,
'T will leaven that whole lump with love of thee.
