Poem by Thomas Carew

Another

THIS little vault, this narrow room,
Of Love and Beauty is the tomb;
The dawning beam, that 'gan to clear
Our clouded sky, lies darken'd here,
For ever set to us: by Death
Sent to enflame the World Beneath.
'Twas but a bud, yet did contain
More sweetness than shall spring again;
A budding Star, that might have grown
Into a Sun when it had blown.
This hopeful Beauty did create
New life in Love's declining state;
But now his empire ends, and we
From fire and wounding darts are free;
   His brand, his bow, let no man fear:
   The flames, the arrows, all lie here. 

1. Epitaph for Maria Wentworth
2. Murdering Beauty
3. The Primrose
4. Secrecy Protested
5. I Do Not Love Thee For That Fair

Thomas Beddoes Another ("Tis a moon-tinted primrose, with a well")

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