English Poetry I: From Chaucer to Gray.
The Harvard Classics. 1909–14.
Richard Crashaw
244. Wishes for the Supposed Mistress
W
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 tread 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:
Taffata 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.
And blood, with pen of truth,
Write what the reader sweetly ru’th.
More than a morning rose,
Which to no box his being owes.
A lover’s kiss may play,
Yet carry nothing thence away.
Their richest tires, but dress
And clothe their simplest nakedness.
The neighbor diamond, and outface
That sunshine by their own sweet grace.
Jewels but to declare
How much themselves more precious are:
Can tame the wanton day
Of gems that in their bright shades play.
Or pearl that dare appear,
Be its own blush, be its own tear.
For whose more noble smart
Love may be long choosing a dart.
Full quivers on love’s bow,
Yet pay less arrows than they owe.
The blood, yet teach a charm,
That chastity shall take no harm.
The burnish of no sin,
Nor flames of aught too hot within.
Virtue their mistress,
And have no other head to dress.
As the coy bride’s, when night
First does the longing lover right.
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.
Made short by lovers’ play,
Yet long by th’ absence of day.
A challenge to his end,
And when it comes, say, ‘Welcome, friend.’
Of sweet discourse, whose powers
Can crown old Winter’s head with flowers.
Open suns, shady bowers;
’Bove all, nothing within that lowers.
Can make Day’s forehead bright
Or give down to the wings of night.
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;
My future hopes can raise,
A trophy to her present praise;
What these lines wish to see:
I seek no further, it is She.
Lo! I unclothe and clear
My Wishes cloudy character.
Whose merit dare apply it.
But modesty dares still deny it!
Shall fix my flying Wishes,
And determine them to kisses.
My fancies, fly before ye;
Be ye my fictions:—but her story.