Arthur Quiller-Couch, ed. 1919. The Oxford Book of English Verse: 1250–1900.
Richard Crashaw. 1613?1649336. Wishes to His Supposed Mistress
WHOE’ER she be— | |
That not impossible She | |
That shall command my heart and me: | |
Where’er she lie, | |
Lock’d up from mortal eye | 5 |
In shady leaves of destiny: | |
Till that ripe birth | |
Of studied Fate stand forth, | |
And teach her fair steps to our earth: | |
Till that divine | 10 |
Idea take a shrine | |
Of crystal flesh, through which to shine: | |
Meet you her, my Wishes, | |
Bespeak her to my blisses, | |
And be ye call’d my absent kisses. | 15 |
I wish her Beauty, | |
That owes not all its duty | |
To gaudy tire, or glist’ring shoe-tie: | |
Something more than | |
Taffata or tissue can, | 20 |
Or rampant feather, or rich fan. | |
A Face, that ‘s best | |
By its own beauty drest, | |
And can alone commend the rest. | |
A Face, made up | 25 |
Out of no other shop | |
Than what Nature’s white hand sets ope. | |
A Cheek, where youth | |
And blood, with pen of truth, | |
Write what the reader sweetly ru’th. | 30 |
A Cheek, where grows | |
More than a morning rose, | |
Which to no box his being owes. | |
Lips, where all day | |
A lover’s kiss may play, | 35 |
Yet carry nothing thence away. | |
Looks, that oppress | |
Their richest tires, but dress | |
And clothe their simplest nakedness. | |
Eyes, that displace | 40 |
The neighbour diamond, and outface | |
That sunshine by their own sweet grace. | |
Tresses, that wear | |
Jewels but to declare | |
How much themselves more precious are: | 45 |
Whose native ray | |
Can tame the wanton day | |
Of gems that in their bright shades play. | |
Each ruby there, | |
Or pearl that dare appear, | 50 |
Be its own blush, be its own tear. | |
A well-tamed Heart, | |
For whose more noble smart | |
Love may be long choosing a dart. | |
Eyes, that bestow | 55 |
Full quivers on love’s bow, | |
Yet pay less arrows than they owe. | |
Smiles, that can warm | |
The blood, yet teach a charm, | |
That chastity shall take no harm. | 60 |
Blushes, that bin | |
The burnish of no sin, | |
Nor flames of aught too hot within. | |
Joys, that confess | |
Virtue their mistress, | 65 |
And have no other head to dress. | |
Fears, fond and slight | |
As the coy bride’s, when night | |
First does the longing lover right. | |
Days, that need borrow | 70 |
No part of their good-morrow | |
From a fore-spent night of sorrow. | |
Days, that in spite | |
Of darkness, by the light | |
Of a clear mind, are day all night. | 75 |
Nights, sweet as they, | |
Made short by lovers’ play, | |
Yet long by th’ absence of the day. | |
Life, that dares send | |
A challenge to his end, | 80 |
And when it comes, say, ‘Welcome, friend!’ | |
Sydneian showers | |
Of sweet discourse, whose powers | |
Can crown old Winter’s head with flowers. | |
Soft silken hours, | 85 |
Open suns, shady bowers; | |
‘Bove all, nothing within that lowers. | |
Whate’er delight | |
Can make Day’s forehead bright, | |
Or give down to the wings of Night. | 90 |
I wish her store | |
Of worth may leave her poor | |
Of wishes; and I wish—no more. | |
Now, if Time knows | |
That Her, whose radiant brows | 95 |
Weave them a garland of my vows; | |
Her, whose just bays | |
My future hopes can raise, | |
A trophy to her present praise; | |
Her, that dares be | 100 |
What these lines wish to see; | |
I seek no further, it is She. | |
‘Tis She, and here, | |
Lo! I unclothe and clear | |
My Wishes’ cloudy character. | 105 |
May she enjoy it | |
Whose merit dare apply it, | |
But modesty dares still deny it! | |
Such worth as this is | |
Shall fix my flying Wishes, | 110 |
And determine them to kisses. | |
Let her full glory, | |
My fancies, fly before ye; | |
Be ye my fictions—but her story. |