But if once the message greet him Early 17th Cent. 56 Anonymous. TO ROSES IN THE BOSOM OF CASTARA Ye blushing virgins happy are In the chaste nunnery of her breastsFor he'd profane so chaste a fair, Whoe'er should call them Cupid's nests. Transplanted thus how bright ye grow! Are sweeter than i' th' open field. 8 In those white cloisters live secure From the rude blasts of wanton breath!-Each hour more innocent and pure, Till you shall wither into death. Then that which living gave you room, 1634. Whose breast hath marble been to me. 12 16 4 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 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 3 Of crystal flesh, through which to shine: 12 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: 15 18 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 commend the rest. A Face, made up Out of no other shop 21 24 Than what Nature's white hand sets ope. 27 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, 30 Eyes, that displaces The neighbour diamond, and outfaces That sunshine by their own sweet graces. 42 Wishes to His Supposed Mistress 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. 48 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 51 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. 63 66 Fears, fond and slight As the coy bride's, when night Days, that need borrow No part of their good-morrow Days, that in spite Of darkness, by the light 69 72 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. 78 Life, that dares send A challenge to his end, And when it comes, say, "Welcome, friend!" 81 Sydnæan showers Of sweet discourse, whose powers Can crown old Winter's head with 84 flowers Soft silken hours, Open suns, shady bowers; 'Bove all, nothing within that lowers. Whate'er delight Can make Day's forehead bright, 87 90 |