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Poem by Richard Crashaw


Out of Catullus


Come and let us live my Deare,
Let us love and never feare,
What the sowrest Fathers say:
Brightest Sol that dies to day
Lives againe as blithe to morrow,
But if we darke sons of sorrow
Set; o then, how long a Night
Shuts the Eyes of our short light!
Then let amorous kisses dwell
On our lips, begin and tell
A Thousand, and a Hundred, score
An Hundred, and a Thousand more,
Till another Thousand smother
That, and that wipe of another.
Thus at last when we have numbred
Many a Thousand, many a Hundred;
WeeТl confound the reckoning quite,
And lose our selves in wild delight:
While our joyes so multiply,
As shall mocke the envious eye. 



Richard Crashaw


Richard Crashaw's other poems:
  1. On the Prodigal
  2. On Mr. G. Herbert's Book
  3. Christ Crucified
  4. In the Holy Nativity of our Lord
  5. Charitas Nimia; or, The Dear Bargain


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