Such moon more modest shed its silent beam, And shamefac'd stay her softly-going team. O Moon, thy day no rose so chaste resembles, Thy torch with no such virgin beauty trembles. Come then, but bring thy troops of stars likewise; For they can try to shine like the Child's eyes. An eye, a star, twinkling with equal grace, The face of heaven and the Child's heavenly face. How well the charm of each transferr'd would show, From hand to hand the mutual sceptres go! Whether heaven's eye should deck His skiey brow, Or the Child's star adorn heaven's forehead now. If the Child's star on heaven's forehead shone, That eye would seem to Him not less His own. Place on His skiey forehead heaven's eye, Not less 'twould deem itself in its own sky. Such interchanges might the stars and skies Make charmingly with the Child's brow and eyes. For change of place the stars indeed might like An everlasting treaty now to strike; And differing though in numbers, e'en the skies Might wish to bargain for a change of eyes. With how much better stars the sky would shine, If as its stars it had these eyes divine! The stars would shine in how much better heaven, If as their sky this brow divine were given! So sky and stars may choose--in vain they choose; For the Child's brow and His fair eyes refuse. Ah, wisely; for these eyes what better heaven Could wish? what better stars to brow be given? What though some gentle star more softly gleams? What if heaven's way thrice, four times, milky seems? Softer this eye which smiles in ruddy face; This milk-white brow, thrice, four times is its grace. To quit their heaven, let then these stars deny; Stars ought not to be ta'en from their own sky. They do deny; and soon in cloud are hid, In tender shadow of the drooping lid. Nor with their own defence content they rest, But seek a hiding-place in mother's breast. Thus the snow melts where His warm touch is plac'd, And genial Spring blooms out of Winter chaste. Such day such evening-dew deserves to drink; Such suns in such a bed deserve to sink. Sky-closing Eve, thy purple veil entwine, Sun, thy luxurious couch incarnadine; While wanton Thetis day too early closes, Thy shameless bed place 'mid Hesperian roses; Roses, forsooth, by conscious blushes painted, By sin with its own tell-tale redness tainted. Nights snowy-white, chaste couch to these suns be, Which virgin Thetis spreads o'er lucent sea; All-holy flowers, lilies inviolate, Roses with innocent blush upon them wait. Be theirs this bosom, where reclin'd all night They bathe themselves in ocean milky-white. And let them bathe, till their own morn say, rise; And Day itself drink splendour from these eyes. R. WI. CLXXVII. _Non dico, me rogaturum Patrem pro vobis._ Joan. xvi. 26.