A Nocturnal Upon St. Lucy's Day,
Being The Shortest Day

• ’Tis the yeares midnight, and it is the dayes,
• Lucies, who scarce seaven houres herself unmaskes,
• The Sunne is spent, and now his flasks
• Send forth light squibs, no constant rayes;
• The worlds whole sap is sunke:
• The generall balme th’ hydroptique earth hath drunk,
• Whither, as to the beds-feet, life is shrunk,
• Dead and interr’d; yet all these seem to laugh,
• Compar’d with mee, who am their Epitaph.
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• Study me then, you who shall lovers bee
• At the next world, that is, at the next Spring:
• For I am every dead thing,
• In whom love wrought new Alchimie.
• For his art did expresse
• A quintessence even from nothingnesse,
• From dull privations, and leane emptinesse:
• He ruin’d mee, and I am re-begot
• Of absence, darknesse, death—things which are not.
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• All others, from all things, draw all that’s good,
• Life, soule, forme, spirit, whence they beeing have;
• I, by loves limbecke, am the grave
• Of all, that’s nothing. Oft a flood
• Have wee two wept, and so
• Drownd the whole world, us two; oft did we grow
• To be two Chaosses, when we did show
• Care to ought else; and often absences
• Withdrew our soules, and made us carcasses.
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• But I am by her death—which word wrongs her—
• Of the first nothing, the Elixer grown;
• Were I a man, that I were one,
• I needs must know; I should preferre,
• If I were any beast,
• Some ends, some means; Yea plants, yea stones detest,
• And love; All, all some properties invest;
• If I an ordinary nothing were,
• As shadow, a light, and body must be here.
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• But I am None; nor will my Sunne renew.
• You lovers, for whose sake, the lesser Sunne
• At this time to the Goat is runne
• To fetch new lust, and give it you,
• Enjoy your summer all;
• Since shee enjoyes her long nights festivall,
• Let mee prepare towards her, and let mee call
• This houre her Vigill, and her Eve, since this
• Bothe the yeares, and the dayes deep midnight is.