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Unutterable love. Sound needed none,

Nor any voice of joy; his spirit drank The spectacle; sensation, soul, and form

All melted into him; they swallowed up

His animal being; in them did he live, And by them did he live; they were his life.

In such access of mind, in such high hour

Of visitation from the living God, Thought was not; in enjoyment it expired.

No thanks he breathed, he proffered no request;

Rapt into still communion that transcends

The imperfect offices of prayer and praise,

His mind was a thanksgiving to the power

That made him; it was blessedness and love.

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Come, my Corinna, come; and coming, mark

How each field turns a street, each street a park

Made green, and trimm'd with trees; see how

Devotion gives each house a bough,

Or branch; each porch, each doore, ere this.

An ark, a tabernacle is, Made up of white-thorn neatly interwove;

As if here were those cooler shades of love.

And sin no more, as we have done, by staying;

But, my Corinna, come, let's go a-Maying.

HERRICK.

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