Poem by George Chapman

Bridal Song

O COME, soft rest of cares! come, Night!
 Come, naked Virtue's only tire,
The reaped harvest of the light
 Bound up in sheaves of sacred fire.
   Love calls to war:
     Sighs his alarms,
   Lips his swords are,
     The field his arms.

Come, Night, and lay thy velvet hand
 On glorious Day's outfacing face;
And all thy crowned flames command
 For torches to our nuptial grace.
   Love calls to war:
     Sighs his alarms,
   Lips his swords are,
     The field his arms.

1. Shine out, Fair Sun, with All Your Heat
2. A Coronet for His Mistress, Philosophy
3. An Address to Death
4. Opinion
5. Her Coming

Gerald Massey Bridal Song ("GAILY the Sun woos the Spring for his Bride")

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