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 flight,

As the

coy bride's when night

First does the longing lover right.

Tears quickly fled

And vain, as those are shed

For a dying maidenhead.

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 sweet as they,

Made short by lovers' play,

Yet long by the absence of the day.

Life that dares send

A challenge to his end,

And when it comes say, Welcome, friend!

Sidneian 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 lours;

Whate'er delight

Can make Day's forehead bright
Or give down to the wings of Night.

In her whole frame

Have Nature all the name,

Art and Ornament the shame.

Her flattery

Picture and Poesy,

Her counsel her own virtue be.

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 dares 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 you my fictions, but her story.

RICHARD CRASHAW

TO LUCASTA GOING TO THE WARS

ELL me not, Sweet, I am unkind

TELL

That from the nunnery

Of thy chaste breast and quiet mind,
To war and arms I fly.

True, a new mistress now I chase,
The first foe in the field;
And with a stronger faith embrace
A sword, a horse, a shield.

Yet this inconstancy is such
As you too shall adore ;

I could not love thee, Dear, so much,
Loved I not Honour more.

RICHARD LOVELACE

TO ALTHEA FROM PRISON

WHEN Love with unconfinèd wings

Hovers within my gates,

And my divine Althea brings

To whisper at the grates;

When I lie tangled in her hair,

And fettered to her eye,

The gods that wanton in the air
Know no such liberty.

When flowing cups run swiftly round
With no allaying Thames,
Our careless heads with roses bound,
Our hearts with loyal flames;
When thirsty grief in wine we steep,
When healths and draughts go free,
Fishes that tipple in the deep
Know no such liberty.

When, like committed linnets, I
With shriller throat shall sing
The sweetness, mercy, majesty,
And glories of my King;
When I shall voice aloud how good
He is, how great should be,
Enlarged winds that curl the flood
Know no such liberty.

Stone walls do not a prison make,
Nor iron bars a cage;
Minds innocent and quiet take

That for an hermitage:

If I have freedom in my love,

And in my soul am free, Angels alone that soar above Enjoy such liberty.

RICHARD LOVELACE

TO LUCASTA GOING BEYOND THE SEAS

F to be absent were to be

IF

Away from thee;

Or that when I am gone,
You or I were alone;

Then, my Lucasta, might I crave

Pity from blust'ring wind or swallowing wave.

But I'll not sigh one blast or gale

To swell my sail,

Or pay a tear to suage

The foaming blue-god's rage;
For, whether he will let me pass

Or I'm still as happy as
no,

I was.

Though seas and land betwixt us both,
Our faith and troth,

Like separated souls,

All time and space controls.

Above the highest sphere we meet,

Unseen, unknown, and greet as angels greet.

So then we do anticipate

Our after-fate,

And are alive i' th' skies,

If thus our lips and eyes

Can speak like spirits unconfined

In heaven, their earthly bodies left behind.

RICHARD LOVELACE

AWAKE, AWAKE, MY LYRE!

AWAKE, awake, my Lyre!

And tell thy silent master's humble tale

In sounds that may prevail ;