James Shirley

(September 1596 – October 1666 / London, England)

A Hymn - Poem by James Shirley

O FLY, my Soul! What hangs upon
   Thy drooping wings,
   And weighs them down
With love of gaudy mortal things?

The Sun is now i' the east: each shade
   As he doth rise
   Is shorter made,
That earth may lessen to our eyes.

O be not careless then and play
   Until the Star of Peace
Hide all his beams in dark recess!
Poor pilgrims needs must lose their way,
When all the shadows do increase.

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Read poems about / on: star, peace, dark, sun, love, lost, rose

Poem Submitted: Saturday, January 4, 2003

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