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Poem by Richard Crashaw


To the Infant Martyrs


Go, smiling souls, your new-built cages break,
In heaven youТll learn to sing, ere here to speak,
Nor let the milky fonts that bathe your thirst
                                           Be your delay;
The place that calls you hence is, at the worst,
                                           Milk all the way.



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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