RICHARD CRASHAW

When sorrow would be seen In her brightest majesty,

For she is a Queen Then is she drest by none but thee : Then and only then she wears Her richest pearls I mean thy tears.

Not in the evening's eyes, When they red with weeping are

For the Sun that dies, Sits Sorrow with a face so fair.

Nowhere but here did ever meet Sweetness so sad, sadness so sweet.

Does the night arise ? Still thy tears do fall and fall.

Does night lose her eyes ? Still the fountain weeps for all.

Let day and night do what they will, Thou hast thy task, thou weepest still.

Not So long she lived Will thy tomb report of thee;

But So long she grieved: Thus must we date thy memory.

Others by days, by months, by years, Measure their ages, thou by tears.

Say, ye bright brothers, The fugitive sons of those fair eyes

Your fruitful mothers,

What make you here ? What hopes can 'tice You to be born ? What cause can ; borrow You from those nests of noble sorrow :

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