ROBERT HERRICK
Thou sweetly canst convert the same
From a consuming fire Into a gentle licking flame, And make it thus expire. Then make me weep My pains asleep; And give me such reposes That I, poor I May think thereby I live and die 'Mongst roses.
Fall on me like the silent dew,
Or like those maiden showers Which, by the peep of day, do strew A baptim o'er the flowers. Melt, melt my pains With thy soft strains; That, having case me given, With full delight I leave this light, And take my flight For Heaven.
��272 To Dianeme
SWEET, be not proud of those two eyes Which starhke sparkle in their skies; Nor be you proud that you can see All hearts your captives, yours yet free ; Be you not proud of that rich hair Which wantons with the love-sick air;
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