 | Poems |  |
17
Celia Singing.
Roses in breathing forth their scent,
Or Stars their borrowed ornament;
Nymphs in the Watery Sphear that move,
Or Angels in their orbs above;
The winged Chariot of the Light,
Or the slow silent wheels of Night;
The shade, which from the swifter Sun,
Doth in a circular motion run;
Or souls that their eternal Rest do keep,
Make far less noise then Celia's Breath in sleep.
Or Stars their borrowed ornament;
Nymphs in the Watery Sphear that move,
Or Angels in their orbs above;
The winged Chariot of the Light,
Or the slow silent wheels of Night;
The shade, which from the swifter Sun,
Doth in a circular motion run;
Or souls that their eternal Rest do keep,
Make far less noise then Celia's Breath in sleep.
But if the Angel which inspires
This subtile Flame with active fires
Should mould this Breath to words, and those
Into a Harmony dispose;
The Musick of this heavenly sphear,
Would steal each soul out at the Ear,
And into Plants and Stones infuse
A life that Cherubins would choose;
And with new Powers invert the Laws of Fate,
Kill those that live, and dead things animate.
This subtile Flame with active fires
Should mould this Breath to words, and those
Into a Harmony dispose;
The Musick of this heavenly sphear,
Would steal each soul out at the Ear,
And into Plants and Stones infuse
A life that Cherubins would choose;
And with new Powers invert the Laws of Fate,
Kill those that live, and dead things animate.
| Poems | |