RICHARD CRASHAW

337. The Weeper

1LJAIL, sister springs,

• Parents of silver-footed rills !

Ever bubbling things, Thawing crystal, snowy hills !

Still spending, never spent ; I mean Thy fair eyes, sweet Magdalene.

Heavens thy fair eyes be ; Heavens of ever-falling stars ;

'Tis seed-time still with thee, And stars thou sow'st whose harvest dares Promise the earth to countershine Whatever makes Heaven's forehead fine.

Every morn from hence A brisk cherub something sips

Whose soft influence Adds sweetness to his sweetest lips ; Then to his music : and his song Tastes of this breakfast all day long.

When some new bright guest Takes up among the stars a room, And Heaven will make a feast, Angels with their bottles come,

And draw from these full eyes of thine Their Master's water, their own wine.

The dew no more will weep The primrose's pale cheek to deck ;

The dew no more will sleep Nuzzled in the lily's neck :

Much rather would it tremble here, And leave them both to be thy tear.

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