t,
'Twould seem a sort of mercy to my mind....
My ode, I shall i' the field
Stand firm; to perish flinching were a shame,
In fact, myself I blame
For such laments; my portion is so sweet.
Tears, sighs, and death I greet.
O reader that of death the servant art,
Earth can no weal, to match my woes, impart.

His poems are full of scenes and comparisons from Nature; for the
sympathy for her which goes with this modern and sentimental tone is
a deep one:

In that sweet season of my age's prime
Which saw the sprout and, as it were, green blade
Of the wild passion....

Changed me
From living man into green laurel whose
Array by winter's cold no leaf can lose.
(Ode 1.)

Love is that by which

My darknesses were made as bright
As clearest noonday light. (Ode 4.)

Elsewhere it is the light of heaven breaking in his heart, and
springtime which brings the flowers.

In Sonnet 44 he plays with impossibilities, like the Greek and Roman
poets:

Ah me! the sea will have no waves, the snow
Will warm and darken, fish on Alps will dwell,
And suns droop yonder, where from common cell

The springs of Tigris and Euphrates flow,
Or ever I shall here have truce or peace
Or love....

and uses the same comparisons, Sestina 7:

So many creatures throng not ocean's wave,
So many, above the circle of the moon,
Of stars were never yet beheld by night;
So many birds reside not in the groves;
So many herbs hath neither field nor shore,
But my heart's thoughts outnumber them each eve.

Many of his poems witness to the truth that the love-passion is the
best interpreter of Nature, especially in its woes. The woes of love
are his constant theme, and far more eloquently expressed than its
bliss:

So fair I have not seen the sun arise,
When heaven was clearest of all cloudy stain--
The welkin-bow I have not after rain
Seen varied with so many shifting dyes,
But that her aspect in more splendid guise
Upon the day when I took up Love's chain
Diversely glowed, for nothing mortal vies
Therewith.... (Sonnet 112.)

From each fair eyelid's tranquil firmament
So brightly shine my stars untreacherous,
That none, whose love thoughts are magnanimous,
Would from aught else choose warmth or guidance lent.
Oh, 'tis miraculous, when on the grass
She sits, a very flower, or when