Page:Breton Wither Browne.djvu/65



hither, steer your wingèd pines,

All beaten mariners,

Here lie Love's undiscover'd mines,

A prey to passengers;

Perfumes far sweeter than the best

Which makes the Phœnix' urn and nest.

Fear not your ships.

Nor any to oppose you save our lips,

But come on shore,

Where no joy dies till love hath gotten more.

For swelling waves our panting breasts,

Where never storms arise,

Exchange; and be awhile our guests:

For stars gaze on our eyes.

The compass love shall hourly sing,

And as he goes about the ring,

We will not miss

To tell each point he nameth with a kiss.

Then come on shore,

Where no joy dies till love hath gotten more.

of Erebus and Night,

Hie away; and aim thy flight

Where consort none other fowl

Than the bat and sullen owl;

Where upon the limber grass

Poppy and mandragoras

With like simples not a few

Hang for ever drops of dew.