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 Where flows Lethe without coil

Softly like a stream of oil.

Hie thee thither, gentle Sleep:

With this Greek no longer keep.

Thrice I charge thee by my wand;

Thrice with moly from my hand

Do I touch Ulysses' eyes,

And with the jaspis: Then arise,

Sagest Greek.

, I the man that whilom lov'd and lost.

Not dreading loss, do sing again of love;

And like a man but lately tempest-toss'd,

Try if my stars still inauspicious prove:

Not to make good that poets never can

Long time without a chosen mistress be,

Do I sing thus; or my affections ran

Within the maze of mutability;

What last I lov'd was beauty of the mind,

And that lodg'd in a temple truly fair.

Which ruin'd now by death, if I can find

The saint that liv'd therein some otherwhere,

I may adore it there, and love the cell

For entertaining what I lov'd so well.

might I not for once be of that sect,

Which hold that souls, when Nature hath her right,

Some other bodies to themselves elect;

And sunlike make the day, and license night?

That soul, whose setting in one hemisphere

Was to enlighten straight another part;