THE SUN RISING

Erin She Hulk Schafer, Photographer/Artist

        Busy old fool, unruly Sun, 

        Why dost thou thus,

Through windows, and through curtains, call on us ? 

Must to thy motions lovers' seasons run ? 

        Saucy pedantic wretch, go chide 

        Late school-boys and sour prentices, 

    Go tell court-huntsmen that the king will ride, 

    Call country ants to harvest offices ;

Love, all alike, no season knows nor clime, 

Nor hours, days, months, which are the rags of time. 

Sunlight Through Grass in Elk Grove Village,  Colin Cronin

        Thy beams so reverend, and strong 

        Why shouldst thou think ? 

I could eclipse and cloud them with a wink, 

But that I would not lose her sight so long. 

        If her eyes have not blinded thine, 

        Look, and to-morrow late tell me, 

    Whether both th' Indias of spice and mine 

    Be where thou left'st them, or lie here with me. 

Ask for those kings whom thou saw'st yesterday, 

And thou shalt hear, "All here in one bed lay." 

Dream

        She's all states, and all princes I ;

        Nothing else is ; 

Princes do but play us ; compared to this, 

All honour's mimic, all wealth alchemy. 

        Thou, Sun, art half as happy as we, 

        In that the world's contracted thus ; 

    Thine age asks ease, and since thy duties be 

    To warm the world, that's done in warming us. 

Shine here to us, and thou art everywhere ; 

This bed thy center is, these walls thy sphere.

~by John Donne

The Dream

The Dreamer, Richard Johnson
http://rjohnson.fineartstudioonline.com/works/143657/the-dreamer

Dear love, for nothing less than thee

Would I have broke this happy dream;

It was a theme

For reason, much too strong for phantasy:

Therefore thou waked'st me wisely; yet

My dream thou brok'st not, but continued'st it.

Thou art so truth that thoughts of thee suffice

To make dreams truths, and fables histories.

Enter these arms, for since thou thought'st it best

Not to dream all my dream, let's act the rest.

As lightning or a taper's light,

Thine eyes, and not thy noise, waked me;

Yet I thought thee

(For thou lov'st truth) an angel at first sight;

But when I saw thou saw'st my heart,

And knew'st my thoughts, beyond an angels art,

When thou knew'st what I dreamt, when thou knew'st when

Excess of joy would wake me, and cam'st then,

I must confess it could not choose but be

Prophane to think thee anything but thee.

Comming and staying showed thee thee,

But rising makes me doubt, that now

Thou art not thou.

That Love is weak, where fear's as strong as he;

'Tis not all spirit pure and brave

If mixture it of Fear, Shame, Honour, have.

Perchance as torches, which must ready be,

Men light and put out, so thou deal'st with me,

Thou cam'st to kindle, go'st to come; Then I

Will dream that hope again, but else would die. 

John Donne