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To the Noblest and Best of Ladies the Countess of Denbigh

Persuading her to resolution in religion, and

Render herself without further delay into the Communion of the Catholic

What Heaven-entreated heart is this,

Stands trembling at the gate of bliss?

Holds fast the door, yet dares not

Fairly to open it, and enter;

Whose definition is a doubt'Twixt life and death, 'twixt in and out.

Say, lingering fair, why comes the

Of your brave soul so slowly forth?

Plead your pretenses,

O you

In weakness, why you choose so

In labor of yourself to lie,

Not daring quite to live nor die.

Ah, linger not, loved soul!

A

And late consent was a long no;

Who grants at last, long time

And did his best to have denied.

What magic bolts, what mystic

Maintain the will in these strange wars!

What fatal, yet fantastic

Keep the free heart from its own hands!

So when the year takes cold we

Poor waters their own prisoners be;

Fettered and locked up fast they

In a sad self-captivity.

The astonished nymphs their flood's strange fate deplore,

To see themselves their own severer shore.

Thou that alone canst thaw this cold,

And fetch the heart from its stronghold,

Almighty Love! end this long war,

And of a meteor make a star.

Oh, fix this fair indefinite,

And 'mongst Thy shafts of sovereign

Choose out that sure decisive

Which has the key of this close heart,

Knows all the corners of 't, and can control The self-shut cabinet of an unsearched soul.

Oh, let it be at last Love's hour;

Raise this tall trophy of Thy power;

Come once the conquering way, not to

But kill this rebel-word, "irresolute,"That so, in spite of all this peevish

Of weakness, she may write, "Resolved at length."Unfold at length, unfold, fair flower,

And use the season of Love's shower;

Meet His well-meaning wounds, wise heart!

And haste to drink the wholesome dart,

That healing shaft, which Heaven till

Hath in Love's quiver hid for you.

O dart of Love! arrow of light!

O happy you, if it hit right!

It must not fall in vain, it

Not mark the dry regardless dust.

Fair one, it is your fate, and

Eternal worlds upon its wings.

Meet it with wide-spread arms, and

Its seat your soul's just center be.

Disband dull fears, give faith the day;

To save your life, kill your delay.

It is Love's siege, and sure to

Your triumph, through His victory.'Tis cowardice that keeps this field,

And want of courage not to yield.

Yield then,

O yield, that Love may

The fort at last, and let life in;

Yield quickly, lest perhaps you

Death's prey, before the prize of Love.

This fort of your fair self, if't be not won,

He is repulsed indeed, but you're undone.

From - Carmen Deo Nostro.

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Richard Crashaw

Richard Crashaw (c. 1613 – 21 August 1649) was an English poet, teacher, High Church Anglican cleric and Roman Catholic convert, who was among t…

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