Page:Golden Treasury of English Songs and Lyrics.djvu/83
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Second
67
Something more than Taffata or tissue can, Or rampant feather, or rich fan.
A face that’s best By its own beauty drest, And can alone command the rest:
A face made upOut of no other shop Than what Nature’s white hand sets ope.
Sydneian showers Of sweet discourse, whose powers Can crown old Winter’s head with flowers.
Whate’er delight Can make day’s forehead bright Or give down to the wings of night.
Soft silken hours,Open suns, shady bowers; ’Bove all, nothing within that lowers.
Days, that need borrowNo part of their good morrow From a fore-spent night of sorrow:
Days, that in spiteOf darkness, by the light Of a clear mind are day all night.
Life, that dares sendA 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;