Page:Oxford Book of English Verse 1250-1918.djvu/343

 WILLIAM HABINGTON 305 To Roses in the Bosom of C as tar a

YE blushing virgins happy are In the chaste nunnery of her breasts For he'd profane so chaste a fair,

Whoe'er should call them Cupid's nests.

Transplanted thus how bright ye grow' How rich a perfume do yc yield'

In some close garden cowslips so Are sweeter than i' th' open field.

In those white cloisters live secure

From the rude blasts of wanton breath '

Each hour more innocent and pure, Till you shall wither into death.

Then that which living gave you room, Your glorious sepulchre shall be.

There wants no marble for a tomb Whose breast hath marble been to me.

30 6 Nox Nocti Indicat Scientiam

'HEN I survey the bright Celestial sphere;

So rich with jewels hung, that Night Doth like an Ethiop bride appear:

My soul her wings doth spread

And heavenward flies, Th' Almighty's mysteries to read In the large volumes of the skies.

3"

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