Wishes To his (Supposed) Mistress ~ Richard Crashaw, styled 'The Divine' 1612-1649

Soft silken hours,
Open suns, shady bowers;
'Bove all, nothing within that lowers.
Days, that need borrow
No part of their good morrow
From a fore-spent night of sorrow:
Days, that in spite
Of darkness, by the light
Of a clear mind are day all night.
Life, that dares send
A challenge to his end,
And when it comes, say, 'Welcome, friend.'
I wish her store
Of worth may leave her poor
Of wishes; and I wish – No more.
Now, if time knows
That Her, whose radiant brows
Weave them a Garland of my Vows;

~

Part of the beautiful poem that gave me a title