WISHES TO HIS SUPPOSED MISTRESS
by: Richard Crashaw (1613?-1649)
- HOE'ER she
be--
- That not impossible She
- That shall command my heart and me:
-
- Where'er she lie,
- Lock'd up from mortal eye
- 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
- 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.
-
- 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,
- Or rampant feather, or rich fan.
-
- A face, that's best
- By its own beauty drest,
- And can alone command the rest.
-
- A Face, made up
- 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.
-
- 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,
- Yet carry nothing thence away.
-
- Looks that oppress
- Their richest tires, but dress
- And clothe their simplest nakedness.
-
- Eyes, that displace
- 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:
-
- Whose native ray
- Can tame the wanton day
- Of gems that in their bright shades play.
-
- Each ruby there,
- Or pearl that dare appear,
- 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
- 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.
-
- Blushes, that bin
- The burnish of no sin,
- Nor flames of aught too hot within.
-
- Joys, that confess
- Virtue their mistress,
- 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
- 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.
-
- Nights, sweep as they,
- Made short by lovers' play,
- Yet long by th' absence of the day.
-
- Life, that dares send
- A challenge to his end,
- 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,
- 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.
-
- 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
- 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
- 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.
-
- 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,
- And determine them to kisses.
-
- Let her full glory,
- My fancies, fly before ye;
- Be ye my fictions -- but her story.
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POEMS BY RICHARD CRASHAW |
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