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Poems, and phancies

written By the Thrice Noble, Illustrious, And Excellent Princess The Lady Marchioness of Newcastle [i.e. Margaret Cavendish]. The Second Impression, much Altered and Corrected

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The Motion of Thoughts.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
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The Motion of Thoughts.

Musing one time alone, mine Eyes were fixt
Upon the Ground, my Sight with Gravel mixt;
My Feet did walk without Direction's guide,
My Thoughts did travel far, and wander wide;
At last they chanc'd up on a Hill to climb,
And being there, saw things that were Divine.
First when they saw, a Glorious Light did blaze,
Whose Splendour pain'd their Sight upon't to gaze,
No Shadows it, nor Separations made,
No Darkness did obstruct this Light with shade;
This Light had no Dimension, nor no bound,
No Limits, but it fill'd all places round;
Always in Motion 'twas, yet fixt did prove,
Like to the twinkling Stars which never move;

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This Motion working, running several ways,
Seem'd as if Contradictions it would raise;
For with it Self it seem'd not to agree,
Like to a Skein of Thread if't Knoted be;
For some did go strait in an even Line,
But some again did Cross, and some did Twine;
Yet at the last all several Motions run
Into the first prime Motion, which begun.
In various Forms and Shapes did Life run through,
Which was Eternal, but the Shapes were new;
And these not sooner made, but pass'd away,
Yet while they were, they did desire to stay:
But Motion, which is Life, can never be
Constant to one, but loves Variety.
And as first Motion every thing can make,
But cannot add unto it Self nor take;
So it could not another Matter frame,
It self was all, and in it self the same.
Perceiving now this fixed point of Light,
I spied a Union, Knowledge, Power and Might,
Wisdome, Truth, Justice, Providence all One,
No attribute was by it self alone;
Not like as several Lines drawn to one point,
For what doth meet, may be again Disjoynt;
But this same point, from whence all Lines did flow,
Nothing can Diminish nor make it Grow;
'Tis its own Centre and Circumference round,
Yet neither has a limit nor a bound,
But fix'd Eternally, and so will last,
All present is, nothing to come, nor past.
A fix't Perfection, nothing can add more,
All things is It, and doth It self adore.

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My thoughts then wond'ring at what they did see,
Found at the last themselves the same to be,
Yet were so small a Branch, as they could not
Know whence they sprung, nor how they were begot.
Some say, all what we know of Heav'n above,
Is, we shall have a perfect Joy and Love;
But who can tell that? for what we do call
Below here Joy and Love, these Passions all
May by excess such other Passions grow,
None in the VVorld is capable to know;
Just like our Bodies, although they shall rise,
And, as Saint Paul says, see God with our Eyes,
Yet may we in the Change such difference find,
Both in our Bodies and also in Mind,
As if we never had been of Mankind,
And that those Eyes we see with now, were blind.
Say, we can measure all the Planets high,
And number every Star that's in the Skie,
And we can Circle all the VVorld about,
And can find all th'Effects of Nature out:
Yet all the Wise and Learned cannot tell,
What's done in Heav'n, or how we there shall dwell.