As if the tidings were the things,

My very joys themselves, my foreign treasure,

Or else did bear them on their wings—

With so much joy they came, with so much pleasure—

My Soul stood at that gate

To recreate

Itself with bliss, and to

Be pleased with speed. A fuller view

It fain would take,

Yet journeys back again would make

Unto my heart: as if 'twould fain

Go out to meet, yet stay within

To fit a place to entertain

And bring the tidings in.