The White Island, or Place of the Blest

      In this world, the isle of dreams,
      While we sit by sorrow’s streams,
      Tears and terrors are our themes

      But when once from hence we fly,
      More and more approaching nigh
             Unto young eternity,

       In that whiter island, where
       Things are evermore sincere;
       Candor here and luster there

    There no monstrous fancies shall
       Out of hell an horror call,
       To create, or cause at all,

    There, in calm and cooling sleep
      We our eyes shall never steep,
       But eternal watch shall keep,

    Pleasures, such as shall pursue
         Me immortalized, and you;
        And fresh joys, as never too
                  Have ending.

More Poems by Robert Herrick