- Elected Silence, sing to me
- And beat upon my whorlèd ear,
- Pipe me to pastures still and be
- The music that I care to hear.
-
- Shape nothing, lips; be lovely-dumb:
- It is the shut, the curfew sent
- From there where all surrenders come
- Which only makes you eloquent.
-
- Be shellèd, eyes, with double dark
- And find the uncreated light:
- This ruck and reel which you remark
- Coils, keeps, and teases simple sight.
-
- Palate, the hutch of tasty lust,
- Desire not to be rinsed with wine:
- The can must be so sweet, the crust
- So fresh that come in fasts divine!
-
- Nostrils, your careless breath that spend
- Upon the stir and keep of pride,
- What relish shall the censers send
- Along the sanctuary side?
-
- O feel-of-primrose hands, O feet
- That want the yield of plushy sward,
- But you shall walk the golden street
- And you unhouse and house the Lord.
-
- And, Poverty, be thou the bride
- And now the marriage feast begun,
- And lily-coloured clothes provide
- Your spouse not laboured-at nor spun.
