English

We are the hewers and delvers who toil for another's gain, —
The common clods and the rabble, stunted of brow and brain.
What do we want, the gleaners, of the harvest we have reaped?
What do we want, the neuters, of the honey we have heaped?

Ye have tried and failed to rule us; in vain to direct have tried,
Not wholly the fault of the ruler, not utterly blind the guide;
Mayhap there needs not a ruler, mayhap we can find the way.
At least ye have ruled to ruin, at least ye have led astray.

The children in the Poor House
May die of many an ill,
But the Poor House does not profit
By their labor in the mill.

The children in the Orphanage
Wear raiment far from fine,
But no Orphanage is financed
By child labor in a mine.

Only the loving family
Which we so much admire
Is willing to support itself
By little children's hire

Only the human father,
A man, with power to think,
Will take from little children
The price of food and drink

Only the human mother,

Awake, awake! The world is young,
For all its weary years of thought:
The starkest fights must still be fought,
The most surprising songs be sung.

Then hear the shouting voice of men
Magniloquently rise and ring:
Their flashing eyes and measured swing
Prove that the world is young again.

O stubborn arms of rosy youth,
Break down your other Gods, and turn
To where her dauntless eyeballs burn —
The silent pools of Light and Truth.

Sonet. 11

P R etty twinckling starry eyes,
How did Nature first deuise
Such a sparkling in your sight
As to giue loue such delight
As to make him like a flye,
Play with lookes vntill he die?

Sure yee were not made at first
For such mischiefe to be curst:
As to kill affection's care,
That doth onely truth declare.
Where worthe's wonders neuer wither
Loue and Beautie liue together.

Blessed eyes then giue your blessing
That in passion's best expressing:

Sonet. 10

F A ire eye spill me not,
Be of a better nature:
Sweet woordes kill me not,
But comforte a poore creature.

But if yee needes will spill me,
Let it bee with loue's blindenesse:
And if yee needes will kill me,
Let it bee with loue's kindnesse.

Then shall your worth be prooued
In prayse's high perfection:
And in that prayse beloued
In fancie's deere affection.

And looue in honor's residence,
Shall write but of your excellence.

Sonet . 9

F A ire faces are eyes witches,
That but inchaunt the minde:
Fond humors reason's itches,
That but affection blinde.
While loue is but a mockery.
To cheate the world with foolerie.

Youth but a blaze of time,
Whome Age to ashes bringes:
Time but a weary chime,
That death to sorrowe ringes:
While wealth the weight of care doth prooue
The world hath little what to loue.

Beautie is sildome wise.
Nor wit hath fortune friend

Sonet . 8

P O ets die all: in loue's triall
Truth hath found yee,
Wonders feeding, on exceeding
Doth confound yee.
Weake wittes perish, what can cherrish
Heart sicke fancy?
Wisdome seeing, in loue's being
Reason's franzye
All Intentions, and inuentions
Of witte's wonder:
See the creature, in worthe's nature
Keepe yee vnder
To the Phaenix , beautie's Radix
Would compare her.
Leaue your writing, no enditing

Sonet . 7

P etharco , I protest
I will proclaime thy pride
And what it is.
By that faire Phaenix nest
Thy little hill doth hide,
In honor's blisse.
Ennie shall hate the place,
Where thou beholdest alone
Loue's Paradice:
Vnworthy of the grace,
To see that worthy one,
Of Angelles eyes
And I will raise againe,
The Poetes that are dead,
To raile on thee:
Because thou doste contriue
The spirit that hath bred,

Sonet . 6

Fooles cannto know what fancie is
Where wisdome findes true wit:
And who can euer ayme at blisse
That hath no thought of it.

A shallow braine can neuer iudge
The sweet or sower betweene:
For Vulcan was but held a drudge
While Venus was a Queene.

A muddie spirite dwells in drosse
While pure affection's fire,
Enflames the heart that feeles no crosse
To compasse his desire,

Sonet . 5

I care not what I say nor doe
My thoughts are spent:
Since no conceite can bring me to
My heart's content:
I cannot speake and if I coulde
It were in vaine:
And yet if that I could, I would
Reueale my payne
But since it is to great to showe
And I must bide it.
I leaue it to remorce to knowe
How care doth hide it.
And sue but to those inward eyes
That see my heart,
To looke on patience how she dies: