Page:Oxford Book of English Verse 1250-1918.djvu/399

 RICHARD CRASHAW

A Face, made up

Out of no other shop

Than what Nature's white hand sets ope.

A Cheek, where youth

And blood, with pen of truth,

Write what the reader sweetly ru'th.

A Cheek, where grows More than a morning rose, Which to no box his being owes.

Lips, where all day

A lover's kiss may play,

Yet carry nothing thence away.

Looks, that oppress

Their richest tires, but dress

And clothe their simplest nakedness.

Eyes, that displace

The neighbour diamond, and outface

That sunshine by their own sweet grace.

Tresses, that wear

Jewels but to declare

How much themselves more precious are:

Whose native ray

Can tame the wanton day

Of gems that in their bright shades play.

Each ruby there,

Or pearl that dare appear,

Be its own blush, be its own tear.

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