I.
Twas not for some calm blessing to deceive,
Thou didst thy polish'd hands in shagg'd furs weave;
It were no blessing thus obtain'd;
Thou rather would'st a curse have gain'd,
Then let thy warm driven snow be ever stain'd.
II.
Not that you feared the discolo'ring cold
Might alchymize their silver into gold;
Nor could your ten white nuns so sin,
That you should thus pennance them in,
Each in her coarse hair smock of discipline.
III.
Nor, Hero-like who, on their crest still wore
A lyon, panther, leopard, or a bore,
To looke their enemies in their herse,
Thou would'st thy hand should deeper pierce,
And, in its softness rough, appear more fierce.
IV.
No, no, LUCASTA, destiny decreed,
That beasts to thee a sacrifice should bleed,
And strip themselves to make you gay:
For ne'r yet herald did display
A coat, where SABLES upon ERMIN lay.
V.
This for lay-lovers, that must stand at dore,
Salute the threshold, and admire no more;
But I, in my invention tough,
Rate not this outward bliss enough,
But still contemplate must the hidden muffe.
Okay, I'm going to have to read this again. And possibly again. My eyes are closing, my head is nodding- -nut not because of this poem- -I just need a nap after getting up so early this morning. Be back later.
Thanks, Richard, for sharing your fine poem. Keep on writing; -) You'll get the hang of it eventually.
Thanks for sharing such a old poem from a great poet.
This for lay-lovers, that must stand at dore, Salute the threshold, and admire no more; But I, in my invention tough, Rate not this outward bliss enough, But still contemplate must the hidden muffe. Good and enjoyable. Nice stanza. Thanks for sharing.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
To salute the threshold! ! Thanks for sharing this poem with us.