Arthur Quiller-Couch, ed. 1919. The Oxford Book of English Verse: 1250–1900.
| O PERFECT Light, which shaid away | |
| The darkness from the light, | |
| And set a ruler o’er the day, | |
| Another o’er the night— | |
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| Thy glory, when the day forth flies, | 5 |
| More vively doth appear | |
| Than at mid day unto our eyes | |
| The shining sun is clear. | |
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| The shadow of the earth anon | |
| Removes and drawis by, | 10 |
| While in the East, when it is gone, | |
| Appears a clearer sky. | |
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| Which soon perceive the little larks, | |
| The lapwing and the snipe, | |
| And tune their songs, like Nature’s clerks, | 15 |
| O’er meadow, muir, and stripe. | |
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| Our hemisphere is polisht clean, | |
| And lighten’d more and more, | |
| While everything is clearly seen | |
| Which seemit dim before: | 20 |
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| Except the glistering astres bright, | |
| Which all the night were clear, | |
| Offuskit with a greater light | |
| No longer do appear. | |
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| The golden globe incontinent | 25 |
| Sets up his shining head, | |
| And o’er the earth and firmament | |
| Displays his beams abread. | |
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| For joy the birds with boulden throats | |
| Against his visage sheen | 30 |
| Take up their kindly musick notes | |
| In woods and gardens green. | |
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| The dew upon the tender crops, | |
| Like pearlis white and round, | |
| Or like to melted silver drops, | 35 |
| Refreshis all the ground. | |
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| The misty reek, the clouds of rain, | |
| From tops of mountains skails, | |
| Clear are the highest hills and plain, | |
| The vapours take the vales. | 40 |
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| The ample heaven of fabrick sure | |
| In cleanness does surpass | |
| The crystal and the silver pure, | |
| Or clearest polisht glass. | |
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| The time so tranquil is and still | 45 |
| That nowhere shall ye find, | |
| Save on a high and barren hill, | |
| An air of peeping wind. | |
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| All trees and simples, great and small, | |
| That balmy leaf do bear, | 50 |
| Than they were painted on a wall | |
| No more they move or steir. | |
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| Calm is the deep and purple sea, | |
| Yea, smoother than the sand; | |
| The waves that weltering wont to be | 55 |
| Are stable like the land. | |
| |
| So silent is the cessile air | |
| That every cry and call | |
| The hills and dales and forest fair | |
| Again repeats them all. | 60 |
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| The flourishes and fragrant flowers, | |
| Through Phoebus’ fostering heat, | |
| Refresht with dew and silver showers | |
| Cast up an odour sweet. | |
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| The cloggit busy humming bees, | 65 |
| That never think to drone, | |
| On flowers and flourishes of trees | |
| Collect their liquor brown. | |
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| The Sun, most like a speedy post | |
| With ardent course ascends; | 70 |
| The beauty of the heavenly host | |
| Up to our zenith tends. | |
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| The burning beams down from his face | |
| So fervently can beat, | |
| That man and beast now seek a place | 75 |
| To save them from the heat. | |
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| The herds beneath some leafy tree | |
| Amidst the flowers they lie; | |
| The stable ships upon the sea | |
| Tend up their sails to dry. | 80 |
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| With gilded eyes and open wings | |
| The cock his courage shows; | |
| With claps of joy his breast he dings, | |
| And twenty times he crows. | |
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| The dove with whistling wings so blue | 85 |
| The winds can fast collect; | |
| Her purple pens turn many a hue | |
| Against the sun direct. | |
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| Now noon is went; gone is midday, | |
| The heat doth slake at last; | 90 |
| The sun descends down West away, | |
| For three of clock is past. | |
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| The rayons of the sun we see | |
| Diminish in their strength; | |
| The shade of every tower and tree | 95 |
| Extendit is in length. | |
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| Great is the calm, for everywhere | |
| The wind is setting down; | |
| The reek throws right up in the air | |
| From every tower and town. | 100 |
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| The gloming comes; the day is spent; | |
| The sun goes out of sight; | |
| And painted is the occident | |
| With purple sanguine bright. | |
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| Our west horizon circular | 105 |
| From time the sun be set | |
| Is all with rubies, as it were, | |
| Or roses red o’erfret. | |
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| What pleasure were to walk and see, | |
| Endlong a river clear, | 110 |
| The perfect form of every tree | |
| Within the deep appear. | |
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| O then it were a seemly thing, | |
| While all is still and calm, | |
| The praise of God to play and sing | 115 |
| With cornet and with shalm! | |
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| All labourers draw home at even, | |
| And can to other say, | |
| Thanks to the gracious God of heaven, | |
| Which sent this summer day. | 120 |