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, Reciting; But when once from hence we fly, More and more approaching nigh Unto young eternity, Uniting; In that whiter island, where Things are evermore sincere; Candour here and lustre there, Delighting: There no monstrous fancies shall Out of hell an horror call, To create, or cause at all, Affrighting. There, in calm and cooling sleep We our eyes shall never steep, But eternal watch shall keep, Attending Pleasures such as shall pursue Me immortalized and you; And fresh joys, as never too Have ending.