Peace, peace; it is not so. Thou dost miscall Thy physic; pills that change Thy sick accessions into settled health, This is the great @3Elixir@1 that turns gall To wine and sweetness; poverty to wealth, And brings man home, when he doth range. Did not he, who ordained the day, Ordain night too? And in the greater world display What in the lesser he would do? All flesh is clay, thou know'st; and but that God Doth use his rod, And by a fruitful change of frosts and showers Cherish and bind thy @3pow'rs@1, Thou wouldst to weeds and thistles quite disperse, And be more wild than is thy verse; Sickness is wholesome, and crosses are but curbs To check the mule, unruly man, They are heaven's husbandry, the famous fan Purging the floor which chaff disturbs. Were all the year one constant sunshine, we Should have no flowers, All would be drought and leanness; not a tree Would make us bowers; Beauty consists in colours; and that's best Which is not fixed, but flies and flows; The settled @3red@1 is dull, and @3whites@1 that rest Something of sickness would disclose. Vicissitude plays all the game, Nothing that stirs, Or hath a name, But waits upon this wheel, Kingdoms too have their physic, and for steel, Exchange their peace and furs. Thus doth God @3key@1 disordered man (Which none else can) Tuning his breast to rise or fall; And by a sacred, needful art, Like strings, stretch ev'ry part Making the whole most musical. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE CHAM TOWERS AT DA NANG by KAREN SWENSON EPITAPH: IN OBITUM M.S. XO MAIJ, 1614 by WILLIAM BROWNE (1591-1643) AFTER A VISIT by PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR A NET TO SNARE THE MOONLIGHT by NICHOLAS VACHEL LINDSAY A MORTIFYING MISTAKE by ANNA MARIA PRATT |