‘Thy houses are of ivory,
Thy windows crystal clear,
Thy tiles are made of beaten gold;
O God, that I were there!
‘We that are here in banishment
Continually do moan.
* * * * *
‘Our sweet is mixed with bitter gall,
Our pleasure is but pain,
Our joys scarce last the looking on,
Our sorrows still remain.
‘But there they live in such delight,
_Such pleasure and such play_,
As that to them a thousand years
Doth seem as yesterday.’