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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=498269" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Saint Mar Magdelene; or, The Weeper</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Hail, sister springs, <br>Parents of silver-footed rills! <br>Ever bubbling things, <br>Thawing crystal, snowy hills! <br>Still spending, never spent; I mean <br>Thy fair eyes, sweet Magdalene. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Heavens thy fair eyes be; <br>Heavens of ever-falling stars; <br>'Tis seed-time still with thee, <br>And stars thou sow'st whose harvest dares <br>Promise the earth to countershine <br>Whatever makes Heaven's forehead fine. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">But we're deceived all.<br>Stars indeed they are, too true,<br>For they but seem to fall,<br>As heav'n's other spangles do.<br>It is not for our earth and us<br>To shine in things so precious.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Upwards thou dost weep;<br>Heavn's bosom drinks the gentle stream;<br>Where the milky rivers creep,<br>Thine floats above, and is the cream.<br>Waters above th' heav'n's, what they be<br>We're taught best by thy tears and thee.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Every morn from hence <br>A brisk cherub something sips <br>Whose soft influence <br>Adds sweetness to his sweetest lips; <br>Then to his music: and his song <br>Tastes of this breakfast all day long. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Not in the evening's eyes,<br>When they red with weeping are<br>For the sun that dies,<br>Sits sorrow with a face so fair;<br>Nowhere but here did ever meet<br>Sweetness so sad, sadness so sweet.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">When sorrow would be seen<br>In her brightest majesty,<br>For she is a queen,<br>Then is she dressed by none but thee;<br>Then, and only then, she wears<br>Her proudest pearls; I mean thy tears.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The dew no more will weep<br>The primrose's pale cheek to deck;<br>The dew no more will sleep,<br>Nuzzled in the lily's neck;<br>Much rather would it be thy tear,<br>And leave them both to tremble here.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">There's no need at all<br>That the balsam-sweating bough<br>So coyly should let fall<br>His med'cinable tears, for now<br>Nature hath learn't extract a dew<br>More sovereign and sweet from you.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">You let the poor drops weep,<br>Weeping is the ease of woe;<br>Softly let them creep,<br>Sad that they are vanquished so;<br>They, though to others no relief,<br>Balsam may be for their own grief.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Such the maiden gem<br>By the purpling vine put on,<br>Peeps from her parent stem<br>And blushes at the bridegroom sun;<br>This wat'ry blossom of thy eyne,<br>Ripe, will make the richer wine.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">When some new bright guest<br>Takes up among the stars a room,<br>And Heav'n will make a feast,<br>Angels with crystal vials come<br>And draw from these full eyes of thine<br>Their Master's water, their own wine.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Golden though he be,<br>Golden Tagus murmurs though;<br>Were his way by thee,<br>Content and quiet he would go;<br>So much more rich would he esteem<br>Thy silver, than his golden stream.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Well does the May that lies<br>Smiling in thy cheeks confess<br>The April in thine eyes;<br>Mutual sweetness they express;<br>No April e'er lent kinder showers,<br>Nor May returned more faithful flowers.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">O cheeks! beds of chaste loves<br>By your own showers seasonably dashed;<br>Eyes! nests of milky doves<br>In your own wells decently washed;<br>O wit of Love! that thus could place<br>Fountain and garden in one face.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">O sweet contest, of woes<br>With loves, of tears with smiles disputing!<br>O fair and friendly foes,<br>Each other kissing and confuting!<br>While rain and sunshine, cheeks and eyes,<br>Close in kind contrarieties.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">But can these fair floods be<br>Friends with the bosom fires that fill thee?<br>Can so great flames agree<br>Eternal tears should thus distill thee?<br>O floods, O fires, O suns, O showers!<br>Mixed and made friends by Love's sweet powers.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Twas his well-pointed dart<br>That digged these wells and dressed this vine;<br>And taught the wounded heart<br>The way into these weeping eyne.<br>Vain loves, avaunt! bold hands, forbear!<br>The Lamb hath dipped His white foot here.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And now where'er He strays<br>Among the Galilean mountains,<br>Or more unwelcome ways,<br>He's followed by two faithful fountains,<br>Two walking baths, two weeping motions,<br>Portable and compendious oceans.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">O thou, thy Lord's fair store!<br>In thy so rich and rare expenses, <br>Even when He showed most poor,<br>He might provoke the wealth of princes;<br>What prince's wanton'st pride e'er could<br>Wash with silver, wipe with gold?</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Who is that King, but He<br>Who call'st His crown to be called thine,<br>That thus can boast to be<br>Waited on by a wand'ring mine,<br>A voluntary mint, that strows<br>Warm silver showers where'er He goes!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">O precious prodigal! <br>Fair spendthrift of thyself! thy measure,<br>Merciless love, is all,<br>Even to the last pearl in thy treasure;<br>All places, times, and objects be<br>Thy tears' sweet opportunity.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Does the day-star rise?<br>Still thy tears do fall and fall.<br>Does day close his eyes?<br>Still the fountain weeps for all.<br>Let night or day do what they will,<br>Thou hast thy task, thou weepest still.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Does thy song lull the air?<br>Thy falling tears keep faithful time.<br>Does thy sweet-breathed prayer<br>Up in clouds in incense climb?<br>Still at each sigh, that is, each stop, <br>A bead, that is, a tear, does drop. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">At these thy weeping gates,<br>Watching their wat'ry motion,<br>Each winged moment waits,<br>Takes his tear and gets him gone;<br>By thine eye's tinct ennobled thus, <br>Time lays him up, he's precious.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Not, 'So long she lived,'<br>Shall thy tomb report of thee;<br>But, 'So long she grieved,'<br>Thus must we date thy memory.<br>Others by moments, months and years,<br>Measure their ages, thou by tears.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">So do perfumes expire;<br>So sigh tormented sweets, oppressed<br>With proud unpitying fire;<br>Such tears the suff'ring rose that's vexed <br>With ungentle flames does shed,<br>Sweating in a too warm bed.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Say, ye bright brothers,<br>The fugitive sons of those fair eyes,<br>Your faithful mothers,<br>What make you here? What hopes can 'tice<br>You to be born? What cause can borrow<br>You from those nests of noble sorrow?</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Whither away so fast?<br>For sure the sordid earth<br>Your sweetness cannot taste,<br>Nor does the dust deserve your birth.<br>Sweet, whiter haste you then? O say<br>Why you trip so fast away!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'We go not to seek<br>The darlings of Aurora's bed,<br>The rose's modest cheek,<br>Nor the violet's humble head;<br>Though the field's eyes, too, weepers be<br>Because they want such tears as we.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Much less mean we to trace<br>The fortune of inferior gems,<br>Preferred to some proud face,<br>Or perched upon feared diadems:<br>Crowned heads are toys. We go to meet<br>A worthy object, our Lord's feet.'</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Richard+Crashaw">Richard Crashaw</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=498269" data-title="Saint Mar Magdelene; or, The Weeper de Richard Crashaw" data-description="Hail, sister springs, 
Parents of silver-footed rills! 
Ever bubbling things, 
Thawing crystal, snowy hills! 
Still spending, never spent; I mean 
Thy fair eyes, sweet Magdalene. 

Heavens thy fair eyes be; 
Heavens of ever-falling stars; 
'Tis se..."></div>
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