Page:Oxford Book of English Verse 1250-1900.djvu/384

 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.

Fears, fond and slight As the coy bride's, when night First does the longing lover right.

Days, that need borrow No part of their good-morrow From a fore-spent night of sorrow.

Days, that in spite Of darkness, by the light Of a clear mind, are day all night.

Nights, sweet as they, Made short by lovers' play, Yet long by th' absence of the day.

Life, that dares send A challenge to his end, And when it comes, say, 'Welcome, friend!'

Sydneian showers Of sweet discourse, whose powers Can crown old Winter's head with flowers.

Soft silken hours, Open suns, shady bowers; 'Bove all, nothing within that lowers.