 | Poems |  |
92
An other.
[This little Vault, this narrow roome]
This little Vault, this narrow roome,Of Love, and Beautie is the tombe,
The dawning beame that 'gan to cleare
Our clouded skie, lyes darkned here,
For ever set to us, by death
Sent to enflame the world beneath;
'Twas but a bud, yet did containe
More sweetnesse then shall spring againe,
A budding starre that might have growne
Into a Sun, when it had blowne.
This hopefull beautie, did create
New life in Loves declining state;
But now his Empire ends, and we
From fire, and wounding darts are free.
His brand, his bow, let no man feare,
The flames, the arrowes, all lye here.
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