T O L U C A S T A.|
AH Lucasta, why so Bright !
Spread with early streaked light !
If still vailed from our sight,
What is't but eternall night ?
Ah Lucasta, why so Chaste ?
With that vigour, ripenes grac't !
Not to be by Man imbrac't
Makes that Royall coyne imbace't,
And this golden Orchard waste.
Ah Lucasta, why so Great !
That thy crammed coffers sweat ;
Yet not owner of a seat
May shelter you from Natures heat,
And your earthly joyes compleat.
Ah Lucasta, why so Good !
Blest with an unstained flood
Flowing both through soule and blood ;
If it be not understood,
'Tis a Diamond in mud.
Lucasta ! stay ! why dost thou flye ?
Thou art not Bright, but to the eye,
Nor Chaste, but in the Mariage-tye,
Nor Great, but in this Treasurie,
Nor Good, but in that sanctitie.
Harder then the Orient stone,
Like an Apparition,
Or as a pale shadow gone,
Dumbe and deafe she hence is flowne.
Then receive this equall dombe,
Virgins strow no teare or bloome,
No one dig the Parian wombe ;
Raise her marble heart ith' roome,
And 'tis both her Coarse and Tombe.
Lovelace, Richard. The Poems of Richard Lovelace.
London: Unit Library, Ltd., 1904. 49-51.
||to Works of Richard Lovelace
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