Never weather-beaten sail

Never weather-beaten sail more willing bent to shore,
Never tired pilgrim limbs affected slumber more,
Than my wearied sprite now longs to fly
Out of my troubled breast;
O come quickly,
O come quickly,
O come quickly, sweetest Lord,
And take my soul to rest.

Ever blooming are the joys of Heaven’s high Paradise:
Cold age deafs not there our ears, nor vapor dims our eyes;
Glory there the sun outshines,
Whose beams the blessed only see:
O come quickly,
O come quickly,
O come quickly, glorious Lord,
And raise my sprite to Thee.

~ Thomas Campion, 1619 (Two Bookes of Ayres: The First Booke, XI)

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About middlingpoet

From the Gawain poet to Rainer Maria Rilke: I love the English and German traditions of poetry.
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