Returne my joyes, and hither bring <br />A tongue not made to speake but sing, <br />A jolly spleene, an inward feast, <br />A causelesse laugh without a jest, <br />A face which gladnesse doth anoynt, <br />An arm that springs out of his joynt, <br />A sprightfull gate that leaves no print, <br />And makes a feather of a flint, <br />A heart that's lighter than the ayre, <br />An eye still dancing in his spheare, <br />Strong mirth which nothing can controule, <br />A body nimbler than the soule, <br />Free wandring thoughts not tyde to muse <br />Which thinke on all things, nothing choose, <br />Which ere we see them come are gone; <br />These life itselfe doth feede upon.<br /><br />William Strode<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/opposite-to-meloncholly/
