Odes (1619)
TO THE NEW YEAR
RICH statue, double-fac'd,
With marble temples graced,
To raise thy godhead higher;
In flames where altars shining,
Before thy priests divining,
Do odorous fumes expire;
Great Janus, I thy pleasure,
With all the Thespian treasure,
Do seriously pursue;
To the pass'd year returning,
As though the old adjourning,
Yet bringing in the new.
Thy ancient vigils yearly
I have observed clearly,
Thy feasts yet smoking be;
Since all thy store abroad is,
Give something to my goddess,
As hath been us'd by thee.
Give her th' Eoan brightness,
Wing'd with that subtle lightness,
That doth transpierce the air;
The roses of the morning
The rising heav'n adorning,
To mesh with flames of hair;
Those ceaseless sounds, above all,
Made by those orbs that move all,
And ever swelling there,
Wrap'd up in numbers flowing,
Them actually bestowing,
For jewels at her ear.
O rapture great and holy,
Do thou transport me wholly,
So well her form to vary;
That I aloft may bear her,
Whereas I will insphere her
In regions high and starry.
And in my choice composures
The soft and easy closures
So amorously shall meet;
That every lively ceasure
Shall tread a perfect measure,
Set on so equal feet.
That spray to fame so fertile,
The lover-crowning myrtle,
In wreaths of mixed boughs,
Within whose shades are dwelling,
Those beauties most excelling,
Inthron'd upon her brows.
Those parallels so even,
Drawn on the face of heaven,
That curious art supposes
Direct those gems, whose clearness
Far off amaze by nearness;
Each glove such fire encloses.
Her bosom full of blisses,
By nature made for kisses,
So pure and wond'rous clear,
Whereas a thousand Graces
Behold their lovely faces,
As they are bathing there.
O, thou self-little blindness,
The kindness of unkindness,
Yet one of those diving,—
Thy brands to me were liever
Thy fascia, and thy quiver,
And thou this quill of mine.
This heart so freshly bleeding,
Upon its own self feeding,
Whose wounds still dropping be;
O Love, thy self confounding;
Her coldness so abounding,
And yet such heat in me.
Yet if I be inspired,
I'll leave thee so admired
To all that shall succeed,
That were they more than many,
'Mongst all there is not any
That Time so oft shall read.
Nor adamant engraved,
That hath been choiceliest saved,
Idea's name outwears;
So large a dower as this is,
The greatest often misses,
The diadem that bears.
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Michael Drayton
