Francis T. Palgrave, ed. (1824–1897). The Golden Treasury. 1875.
Richard Crashaw LXXIX. Wishes for the Supposed MistressW
That not impossible She
That shall command my heart and me;
Lock’d up from mortal eye
In shady leaves of destiny:
Of studied Fate stand forth,
And teach her fair steps to our earth;
Idea take a shrine
Of crystal flesh, through which to shine:
Bespeak her to my blisses,
And be ye call’d, my absent kisses.
That owes not all its duty
To gaudy tire, or glist’ring shoe-tie:
Taffeta or tissue can,
Or rampant feather, or rich fan.
By its own beauty drest,
And can alone commend the rest—
Out of no other shop
Than what Nature’s white hand sets ope.
Of sweet discourse, whose powers
Can crown old Winter’s head with flowers.
Can make day’s forehead bright
Or give down to the wings of night.
Open suns, shady bowers;
’Bove all, nothing within that lowers.
No part of their good morrow
From a fore-spent night of sorrow—
Of darkness, by the light
Of a clear mind are day all night.
A challenge to his end,
And when it comes, say, “Welcome, friend.”
Of worth may leave her poor
Of wishes; and I wish——no more.
That Her, whose radiant brows
Weave them a garland of my vows—
What these lines wish to see:
I seek no further, it is She.
Lo! I unclothe and clear
My wishes’ cloudy character.
Shall fix my flying wishes,
And determine them to kisses.
My fancies, fly before ye;
Be ye my fictions:—but her story.