Edmund Waller

Such were the last, the sweetest Notes that hung
Upon our dying Swan's melodious Tongue:
Notes, whose strong Charms the dullest Ear might move,
And melt the hardest Heart in flames of Love:
Notes, whose Seraphic Raptures speak a mind
From Human Thoughts, and Earthly Dross refin'd;
So just their Harmony, so high their flight,
With Joy I read them, and with Wonder write.

Sure, happy Saint, this Noble Song was giv'n
To fit Thee for th' approaching Joys of Heav'n:
Love, wondrous Love, whose Conquest was thy Theme,
Has taught thy Soul the airy way to climb;
Love snatch'd Thee, like Elijah to the Skie,
In Flames that not consume, but purifie:
There with thy Fellow-Angels, mixt, and free
From the dull load of dim Mortality;
Thou feel'st new Joys, and feed'st thy ravish'd sight
With unexhausted Beams of Love and Light:
And sure, blest Spirit, to compleat thy Bliss,
In Heav'n thou sing'st this Song, or one like This.