Nights, sweet as they, Made short by lovers play, Yet long by the absence of the day.

Eyes that displace the neighbor diamond, and outface that sunshine by their own sweet grace.

All thy old woes shall now smile on thee, and thy pains sit bright on thee. All thy sorrows here shall shine and thy sufferings be divine; Tears shall take comfort and turn to gems and wrongs repent to diadems Even thy deaths shall live and new dress the soul that once they slew.

Nothing speaks our grief so well as to speak nothing.

Nights, sweet as they, Made short by lovers play, Yet long by the absence of the day.

Hark! She is called, the parting hour is come. Take thy farewell, poor world! Heaven must go home. . . .

A pillow for thee will I bring,Stuffed with down of angel's wing.