The Works of Abraham Cowley/Volume 2/The Soul
For works with similar titles, see The Soul.
THE SOUL.
If mine eyes do e'er declare
They've seen a second thing that's fair;
Or ears, that they have musick found,
Besides thy voice, in any sound;
If my taste do ever meet,
After thy kiss, with aught that's sweet;
If my abused touch allow
Aught to be smooth, or soft, but you;
If what seasonable springs,
Or the Eastern summer, brings,
Do my smell persuade at all
Aught perfume, but thy breath, to call;
If all my senses' objects be
Not contracted into thee,
And so through thee more powerful pass,
As beams do through a burning-glass;
If all things that in nature are
Either soft, or sweet, or fair,
Be not in thee so' epitomis'd,
That nought material's not compris'd;
May I as worthless seem to thee
As all, but thou, appears to me!
They've seen a second thing that's fair;
Or ears, that they have musick found,
Besides thy voice, in any sound;
If my taste do ever meet,
After thy kiss, with aught that's sweet;
If my abused touch allow
Aught to be smooth, or soft, but you;
If what seasonable springs,
Or the Eastern summer, brings,
Do my smell persuade at all
Aught perfume, but thy breath, to call;
If all my senses' objects be
Not contracted into thee,
And so through thee more powerful pass,
As beams do through a burning-glass;
If all things that in nature are
Either soft, or sweet, or fair,
Be not in thee so' epitomis'd,
That nought material's not compris'd;
May I as worthless seem to thee
As all, but thou, appears to me!
If I ever anger know,
Till some wrong be done to you;
If Gods or Kings my envy move,
Without their crowns crown'd by thy love;
If ever I an hope admit,
Without thy image stamp'd on it;
Or any fear, till I begin
To find that you 're concern'd therein;
If a joy e'er come to me,
That tastes of any thing but thee;
If any sorrow touch my mind,
Whilst you are well, and not unkind;
If I a minute's space debate,
Whether I shall curse and hate
The things beneath thy hatred fall,
Though all the world, myself and all;
And for love—if ever I
Approach to it again so nigh,
As to allow a toleration
To the least glimmering inclination:
If thou alone dost not controul
All those tyrants of my soul,
And to thy beauties ty'st them so,
That constant they as habits grow;
If any passion of my heart,
By any force, or any art,
Be brought to move one step from thee,
Mayst thou no passion have for me!
Till some wrong be done to you;
If Gods or Kings my envy move,
Without their crowns crown'd by thy love;
If ever I an hope admit,
Without thy image stamp'd on it;
Or any fear, till I begin
To find that you 're concern'd therein;
If a joy e'er come to me,
That tastes of any thing but thee;
If any sorrow touch my mind,
Whilst you are well, and not unkind;
If I a minute's space debate,
Whether I shall curse and hate
The things beneath thy hatred fall,
Though all the world, myself and all;
And for love—if ever I
Approach to it again so nigh,
As to allow a toleration
To the least glimmering inclination:
If thou alone dost not controul
All those tyrants of my soul,
And to thy beauties ty'st them so,
That constant they as habits grow;
If any passion of my heart,
By any force, or any art,
Be brought to move one step from thee,
Mayst thou no passion have for me!
If my busy' Imagination
Do not thee in all things fashion,
So that all fair species be
Hieroglyphick marks of thee;
If when she her sports does keep
(The lower soul being all asleep)
She play one dream, with all her art,
Where thou hast not the longest part;
If aught get place in my remembrance,
Without some badge of thy resemblance—
So that thy parts become to me
A kind of art of memory;—
If my Understanding do
Seek any knowledge but of you;
If she do near thy body prize
Her bodies of philosophies;
If she to the Will do shew
Aught desirable but you;
Or, if that would not rebel,
Should she another doctrine tell;
If my Will do not resign
All her liberty to thine;
If she would not follow thee,
Though Fate and thou should disagree;
And if (for I a curse will give,
Such as shall force thee to believe)
My soul be not entirely thine;
May thy dear body ne'er be mine!
Do not thee in all things fashion,
So that all fair species be
Hieroglyphick marks of thee;
If when she her sports does keep
(The lower soul being all asleep)
She play one dream, with all her art,
Where thou hast not the longest part;
If aught get place in my remembrance,
Without some badge of thy resemblance—
So that thy parts become to me
A kind of art of memory;—
If my Understanding do
Seek any knowledge but of you;
If she do near thy body prize
Her bodies of philosophies;
If she to the Will do shew
Aught desirable but you;
Or, if that would not rebel,
Should she another doctrine tell;
If my Will do not resign
All her liberty to thine;
If she would not follow thee,
Though Fate and thou should disagree;
And if (for I a curse will give,
Such as shall force thee to believe)
My soul be not entirely thine;
May thy dear body ne'er be mine!