RICHARD CRASHAW

Whatever 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 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.

�� �