ABRAHAM COWLEY

Was there a tree about which did not know

The love betwixt us two?

Henceforth, ye gentle trees, for ever fade ; Or your sad branches thicker join

And into darksome shades combine, Dark as the grave wherein my Friend is laid !

Large was his soul : as targe a soul as e'er

Submitted to inform a body here ;

High as the place 'twas shortly in Heaven to have,

But low and humble as his grave. So high that all the virtues there did come,

As to their chiefest seat

Conspicuous and great ; So low, that for me too it made a room.

Knowledge he only sought, and so soon caught As if for him Knowledge had rather sought; Nor did more learning ever crowded lie

In such a short mortality. Whene'er the skilful youth discoursed or writ,

Still did the notions throng

About his eloquent tongue ; Nor could his ink flow faster than his wit.

His mirth was the pure spirits of various wit,

Yet never did his God or friends forget ;

And when deep talk and wisdom came in view, Retired, and gave to them their due.

For the rich help of books he always took,

Though his own searching mind before Was so with notions written o'er,

As if wise Nature had made that her book.

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