Page:Oxford Book of English Verse 1250-1918.djvu/403

 RICHARD CRASHAW

When some new bright guest Takes up among the stars a room, And Heaven will make a feast, Angels with their bottles come,

And draw from these full eyes of thine Their Master's water, their own wine.

The dew no more will weep The primrose's pale cheek to deck;

The dew no more will sleep Nuzzled in the lily's neck-

Much rather would it tremble here, And leave them both to be thy tear.

When sorrow would be seen In her brightest majesty,

For she is a Queen

Then is she drcst 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.

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