TIME is the feather'd thing, And, whilst I praise The sparklings of thy looks and call them rays, Takes wing, Leaving behind him as he flies An unperceived dimness in thine eyes. His minutes, whilst they're told, Do make us old; And every sand of his fleet glass, Increasing age as it doth pass, Insensibly sows wrinkles there Where flowers and roses do appear. Whilst we do speak, our fire Doth into ice expire, Flames turn to frost; And ere we can Know how our crow turns swan, Or how a silver snow Springs there where jet did grow, Our fading spring is in dull winter lost. Since then the Night hath hurl'd Darkness, Love's shade, Over its enemy the Day, and made The world Just such a blind and shapeless thing As 'twas before light did from darkness spring, Let us employ its treasure And make shade pleasure: Let 's number out the hours by blisses, And count the minutes by our kisses; Let the heavens new motions feel And by our embraces wheel; And whilst we try the way By which Love doth convey Soul unto soul, And mingling so Makes them such raptures know As makes them entranced lie In mutual ecstasy, Let the harmonious spheres in music roll! William Habington. 1605-1654 297. To Roses in the Bosom of Castara YE blushing virgins happy are In the chaste nunnery of her breasts-- For he'd profane so chaste a fair, Whoe'er should call them Cupid's nests. Transplanted thus how bright ye grow! How rich a perfume do ye yield! In some close garden cowslips so Are sweeter than i' th' open field. In those white cloisters live secure From the rude blasts of wanton breath!-- Each hour more innocent and pure, Till you shall wither into death. Then that which living gave you room, Your glorious sepulchre shall be. There wants no marble for a tomb Whose breast hath marble been to me. William Habington. 1605-1654 298. Nox Nocti Indicat Scientiam WHEN I survey the bright Celestial sphere; So rich with jewels hung, that Night Doth like an Ethiop bride appear: My soul her wings doth spread And heavenward flies, Th' Almighty's mysteries to read In the large volumes of the skies. For the bright firmament Shoots forth no flame So silent, but is eloquent In speaking the Creator's name. No unregarded star Contracts its light Into so small a character, Removed far from our human sight, But if we steadfast look We shall discern In it, as in some holy book, How man may heavenly knowledge learn. It tells the conqueror That far-stretch'd power, Which his proud dangers traffic for, Is but the triumph of an hour: That from the farthest North, Some nation may, Yet undiscover'd, issue forth, And o'er his new-got conquest sway: