It’s National Poetry Day and the theme is ‘Light’ so here’s one of my favourites that has stood the test of centuries.
The Sunne Rising
Busie old foole, unruly Sunne,
Why dost thou thus,
Through windowes and through curtaines call on us?
Must to thy motions lovers’ seasons run?
Sawcy pedantique wretch, goe chide
Late schoole boyes and sowr prentices.
Goe tell Court-huntsmen that the King will ride,
Call countrey ants to harvest offices;
Love all alike, no season knowes, nor clime,
Nor hours, days, moneths, which are the rags of time.
Thy beames, so reverend and strong
Why shouldst thou thinke?
I could eclipse and cloud them with a winke,
But that I would not lose her sight so long:
If her eyes have not blinded thine,
Looke, and tomorrow late, tell mee,
Whether both the India’s of spice and Myne
Be where thou lefst them, or lie here with mee.
Aske for those Kings whom thou saw’st yesterday,
And thou shalt heare, All here in one bed lay.
She is all States, and all Princes, I,
Nothing else is.
Princes doe but play us; compar’d to this,
All honour’s mimique, all wealth alchimie.
Thou sunne art half as happy as wee,
In that the world’s contracted thus;
Thine age asks ease, and since thy duties bee
To warme the world, that’s done in warming us.
Shine here to us, and thou art everywhere;
This bed thy centre is, these walls thy spheare.