Verse > Anthologies > Ralph Waldo Emerson, ed. > Parnassus: An Anthology of Poetry
Ralph Waldo Emerson, comp. (1803–1882).  Parnassus: An Anthology of Poetry.  1880.
By Sir Philip Sidney (1554–1586)
O LORD in me there lieth nought
  But to thy search revealèd lies;
        For when I sit
        Thou markest it;
  Nor less thou notest when I rise:        5
Yea, closest closet of my thought
  Hath open windows to thine eyes.
Thou walkest with me when I walk;
  When to my bed for rest I go,
        I find thee there,        10
        And everywhere;
  Not youngest thought in me doth grow,
No, not one word I cast to talk
  But, yet unuttered, thou dost know.
If forth I march, thou goest before;        15
  If back I turn, thou com’st behind;
        So forth nor back
        Thy guard I lack;
  Nay, on me too thy hand I find.
Well I thy wisdom may adore,        20
  But never reach with earthly mind.
To shun thy notice, leave thine eye,
  O whither might I take my way?
        To starry sphere?
        Thy throne is there:        25
  To dead men’s undelightsome stay?
There is thy walk, and there to lie
  Unknown, in vain should I assay.
O sun, whom light nor flight can match!
  Suppose thy lightful flightful wings        30
        Thou lend to me,
        And I could flee
  As far as thee the evening brings:
Even led to west he would me catch,
  Nor should I lurk with western things.        35
Do thou thy best, O secret night!
  In sable veil to cover me:
        Thy sable veil
        Shall vainly fail:
  With day unmasked my night shall be,        40
For night is day, and darkness light,
  O Father of all lights, to thee.

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