Fish (fly-replete, in depth of June,
Dawdling away their wat'ry noon)
Ponder deep wisdom, dark or clear,
Each secret fishy hope or fear.
Fish say, they have their Stream and Pond;
But is there anything Beyond?
This life cannot be All, they swear,
For how unpleasant, if it were!

As kingfishers catch fire, dragonflies dráw fláme;

As tumbled over rim in roundy wells

Stones ring; like each tucked string tells, each hung bell's

Bow swung finds tongue to fling out broad its name;

Each mortal thing does one thing and the same:

Deals out that being indoors each one dwells;

Selves - goes itself; myself it speak and spells,

Crying Whát I do is me: for thatI came.

Í say móre: the just man justices;

Kéeps grace: thát keeps all his goings graces;

Acts in God's eye what in God's eye he is -

Chríst - for Christ play in ten thousand places,

Lovely in limbs, and lovely in eyes not his

To the Father through the features of men's faces.

Death be not proud, though some have called thee   
Mighty and dreadfull, for, thou art not so,                
For, those, whom thou think'st, thou dost overthrow,    
Die not, poore death, nor yet canst thou kill me.         
From rest and sleepe, which but thy pictures bee,            
Much pleasure, then from thee, much more must flow,      
And soonest our best men with thee doe goe,                  
Rest of their bones, and soules deliverie.                           
Thou art slave to Fate, Chance, kings, and desperate men,  
And dost with poyson, warre, and sicknesse dwell,
And poppie, or charmes can make us sleepe as well,
And better then thy stroake; why swell'st thou then;
One short sleepe past, wee wake eternally,
And death shall be no more; death, thou shalt die.