William Habington

(1605 - 1654 / England)

To Roses In The Bosom Of Castara - Poem by William Habington

YE blushing virgins happy are
   In the chaste nunnery of her breasts--
For he'd profane so chaste a fair,
   Whoe'er should call them Cupid's nests.

Transplanted thus how bright ye grow!
   How rich a perfume do ye yield!
In some close garden cowslips so
   Are sweeter than i' th' open field.

In those white cloisters live secure
   From the rude blasts of wanton breath!--
Each hour more innocent and pure,
   Till you shall wither into death.

Then that which living gave you room,
   Your glorious sepulchre shall be.
There wants no marble for a tomb
   Whose breast hath marble been to me.


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Read poems about / on: happy, death, rose



Poem Submitted: Saturday, January 4, 2003



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