 | The poems (1923) |  |
A Divine Love.
Why should dull Art, which is wise Nature's ape,
If she produce a shape
So farre beyond all patternes, that of old
Fell from her mold,
As thine (admir'd Lucinda) not bring forth
An equall wonder, to express that worth
In some new way, that hath
Like her great work, no print of vulgar path?
If she produce a shape
So farre beyond all patternes, that of old
Fell from her mold,
As thine (admir'd Lucinda) not bring forth
An equall wonder, to express that worth
In some new way, that hath
Like her great work, no print of vulgar path?
Is it because the rapes of Poetry,
Rifeling the spacious sky
Of all its fires, light, beauty, influence,
Did those dispence
On ayrie Creations, that surpast
The reall workes of Nature, she at last
To prove their raptures vain,
Shew'd such a light as Poets could not feign?
Rifeling the spacious sky
Of all its fires, light, beauty, influence,
Did those dispence
On ayrie Creations, that surpast
The reall workes of Nature, she at last
To prove their raptures vain,
Shew'd such a light as Poets could not feign?
Or is it 'cause the factious wits did vie
With vain Idolatry,
Whose Goddess was supreme, and so had hurld
Schism through the world,
Whose Priest sung sweetest layes; thou didst appear,
A glorious mysterie, so dark, so clear,
As Nature did intend
All should confess, but none might comprehend?
With vain Idolatry,
Whose Goddess was supreme, and so had hurld
Schism through the world,
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A glorious mysterie, so dark, so clear,
As Nature did intend
All should confess, but none might comprehend?
Perhaps all other beauties share a light
Proportion'd to the sight
Of weak mortality, scatt'ring such loose fires,
As stir desires,
And from the brain distill salt amorous rhumes;
Whilst thy immortall flame such dross consumes,
And from the earthly mold
With purging fires severs the purer gold.
Proportion'd to the sight
Of weak mortality, scatt'ring such loose fires,
As stir desires,
And from the brain distill salt amorous rhumes;
Whilst thy immortall flame such dross consumes,
And from the earthly mold
With purging fires severs the purer gold.
If so, then why in Fames immortall scrowl,
Doe we their names inroul,
Whose easie hearts, and wanton eyes did sweat
With sensuall heat?
If Petrark's unarm'd bosome catch a wound
From a light glance, must Laura be renown'd?
Or both a glory gain,
He from ill-govern'd Love, she from Disdain?
Doe we their names inroul,
Whose easie hearts, and wanton eyes did sweat
With sensuall heat?
If Petrark's unarm'd bosome catch a wound
From a light glance, must Laura be renown'd?
Or both a glory gain,
He from ill-govern'd Love, she from Disdain?
Shall he more fam'd in his great Art become,
For wilfull martyrdome?
Shall she more title gain to chast and fair
Through his despair?
Is Troy more noble 'cause to ashes turn'd?
Than Virgin Cities that yet never burn'd?
Is fire, when it consumes
Temples, more fire, than when it melts perfumes?
For wilfull martyrdome?
Shall she more title gain to chast and fair
Through his despair?
Is Troy more noble 'cause to ashes turn'd?
Than Virgin Cities that yet never burn'd?
Is fire, when it consumes
Temples, more fire, than when it melts perfumes?
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Cause Venus from the Ocean took her form
Must Love needs be a storm?
Cause she her wanton shrines in Islands reares,
Through seas of tears,
O'er Rocks and Gulphs, with our own sighs for gale,
Must we to Cyprus, or to Paphos sail?
Can there no way be given,
But a true Hell that leads to her false Heaven?
Must Love needs be a storm?
Cause she her wanton shrines in Islands reares,
Through seas of tears,
O'er Rocks and Gulphs, with our own sighs for gale,
Must we to Cyprus, or to Paphos sail?
Can there no way be given,
But a true Hell that leads to her false Heaven?
| The poems (1923) | |