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Poem by Richard Crashaw


On Mr. G. Herbert's Book


Know you fair, on what you look;
Divinest love lies in this book,
Expecting fire from your eyes,
To kindle this his sacrifice.
When your hands untie these strings,
Think youhave an angel by th wings.
One that gladly will be nigh,
To wait upon each morning sigh.
To flutter in the balmy air
Of your well-perfumed prayer.
These white plumes of his hell lend you,
Which every day to heaven will send you,
To take acquaintance of the sphere,
And all the smooth-facd kindred there.
         And though Herberts name do owe
         These devotions, fairest, know
         That while I lay them on the shrine
         Of your white hand, they are mine.



Richard Crashaw


Richard Crashaw's other poems:
  1. In the Holy Nativity of our Lord
  2. Charitas Nimia; or, The Dear Bargain
  3. On the Prodigal
  4. On the Miracle of the Multiplied Loaves
  5. The Tear

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