Poem by George Chapman

Bridal Song

O COME, soft rest of cares! come, Night!
 Come, naked Virtue's only tire,
The reaped harvest of the light
 Bound up in sheaves of sacred fire.
   Love calls to war:
     Sighs his alarms,
   Lips his swords are,
     The field his arms.

Come, Night, and lay thy velvet hand
 On glorious Day's outfacing face;
And all thy crowned flames command
 For torches to our nuptial grace.
   Love calls to war:
     Sighs his alarms,
   Lips his swords are,
     The field his arms.

1. A Coronet for His Mistress, Philosophy
2. Shine out, Fair Sun, with All Your Heat
3. An Address to Death
4. Opinion
5. Her Coming

Gerald Massey Bridal Song ("GAILY the Sun woos the Spring for his Bride")

Print

1327 Views

Last Poems

To Russian version