from EpithalmionEdmund SpenserAh! when will this long weary day have end,And lend me leave to come unto my love?How slowly do the hours their numbers spend!How slowly does sad Time his feathers move!Haste thee, O fairest planet, to thy homeWithin the western foam;Thy tired steeds long since have need of rest.Long though it be, at last I see it gloomAnd the bright evening star with golden crestAppear out of the East.Fair child of beauty! glorious lamp of love!That all the host of heaven in ranks dost leadAnd guidest lovers through the night's sad dread,How cheerfully thou lookest from aboveAnd seem'st to laugh atween thy twinkling light,As joining in the sightOf these glad many, which for joy do singThat all the woods them answer, and their echo ring!
Wednesday, May 6, 2009
Good job, Maine, latest member of the anyone-can-get-married-here club! (though as I mention in my Milton memoir I myself am not sure I would ever go through such a grueling experience again). Off in a few minutes to a Little League baseball game in the drizzle, but first I thought I would share an epithalamion in honor of Maine's great legislative occasion.