Richard Crashaw(1613–1649)
The Tear
What bright soft thing is this
Sweet Mary, thy fair eyes' expense9
A m o i s t spark it is,
A wat'ry d i a m o n d ; from w h e n c e
T h e very term, I think, w a s f o u n d
T h e water1 of a d i a m o n d .
O 'tis not a tear,
'Tis a star about to drop
From t h i n e eye its sphere;
T h e s u n will stoop and take it up.
P r o u d will his sister2 be to w e a r
T h i s t h i n e eyes' j e w e l in her ear.
O 'tis a tear
T o o true a tear; for no sad eyne,eyes
H o w sad so e're,ever
Rain so true a teare as thine;
E a c h drop leaving a p l a c e so dear,
W e e p s for itself, is its o w n tear.
S u c h a pearl as this is,
(Slipped from Aurora's 0 dewy breast)the dawn's
T h e rose bud's s w e e t lip kisses;
A n d s u c h t h e rose itself, w h e n vexed
W i t h u n g e n t l e f l a m e s , d o e s shed,
S w e a t i n g in too w a r m a bed.
S u c h the m a i d e n g e m ,
By t h e w a n t o n spring put on,
P e e p s from her parent s t e m ,
A n d b l u s h e s o n the m a n l y sun:
This wat'ry b l o s s o m of thy eyne,
Ripe, will m a k e the richer w i n e .
Faire drop, w h y quak'st t h o u so
'Cause thou straight 0 must lay thy headimmediately
In the dust o no;
T h e dust shall never be thy bed:
A pillow for t h e e will I bring,
S t u f f e d w i t h d o w n of angels' wing.
T h u s carried up on high,
(For to H e a v e n t h o u m u s t go)
S w e e t l y shalt t h o u lie
A n d in soft slumbers bathe thy w o e ;
Till t h e singing orbs3 awake thee,
A n d o n e o f their bright c h o r u s m a k e t h e e .
T h e r e thy self shalt be
An eye, but not a w e e p i n g o n e ,
Yet I doubt of thee,
W h e t h e r th'hadst rather there have s h o n e
An eye of Heaven; or still shine here,
In th'Heaven of Mary's eye, a tear.