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I may not tell the rapture
Of a banquet so divine;
No! everyone that thirsteth,
Let him taste the Bread & Wine,
Hear the Bride & Spirit, saying
Will ye also go away?
Or go, poor soul, for ever!
Oh! the soul dirge _ hear it play.
Arthur Cleveland Coxe.

ToMorrow
From the Spanish of Lope de Vega
Lord, what am I, that, with unceasing ^care
Thou didst seek after me, _ that Thou
didst wait
Wet with unhealthy dews, before my gate
And pass the gloomy nights of winter ^there?
O strange delusion! that I did not gr[eet?]
Thy blest approach, and I to Heaven
how lost;
If my ingratitude's unkindly frost