My mind last night was gaily stirred
By wingings of the Ho Ho bird,
The Oriental bird that flies
Only (they say) in Paradise.
I watched its feathers trail and wing
Through air as soft as soundless Spring.
It left behind it as it came,
A path of amethystine flame;
Below, the willows slept, and bent
Their yellow heads and dreamed and leant;
A placid stream their tendrils showed;
Afar the turquoise mountains glowed
And pushed aside their mists to watch
The bird that has on earth no match.
Surely, I thought, it seems absurd
To see the landscape match the bird:
Mountains and trees and rocks and springs
Answer the waving of its wings:
When, suddenly, to my surprise,
My mind became a Paradise.

Lie downe poore heart and die a while for griefe,
Thinke not this world will euer do thee good,
Fortune forewarnes y looke to thy reliefe,
And sorrow sucks vpon thy liuing bloud,
Then this is all can helpe thee of this hell,
Lie downe and die, and then thou shalt doe well.

Day giues his light but to thy labours toyle,
And night her rest but to thy weary bones,
Thy fairest fortune followes with a foyle:
And laughing endes but with thine after grones.
And this is all can helpe thee of thy hell,
Lie downe and die and then thou shalt doe well.

Patience doth pine and pitty ease no paine,
Time weares the thoughts but nothing helps the mind,
Dead and aliue aliue and dead againe:
These are the fits that thou art like to finde.
And this is all can helpe thee of thy hell,
Lie downe and die and then thou shalt doe well.