The Virgin Mary.

As sunbeams pierce the glass, and streaming in,
No crack or schism leave i' th' subtle skin:
So the Divine Hand worked and brake no thread,
But, in a mother, kept a maidenhead.

The Virgin Mary was, as I have read,
The House of God, by Christ inhabited;
Into the which He entered, but, the door
Once shut, was never to be open'd more.

One more by thee, love, and desert have sent,
T' enspangle this expansive firmament.
O flame of beauty! come, appear, appear
A virgin taper, ever shining here.

Thrive, gentle plant! and weave a bower
For Mary and for me,
And deck with many a splendid flower,
Thy foliage large and free.


Thou camest from Eartham, and wilt shade
(If truly I divine)
Some future day the illustrious head
Of him who made thee mine.


Should Daphne show a jealous frown,
And envy seize the bay,
Affirming none so fit to crown
Such honour’d brows as they,


Thy cause with zeal we shall defend,
And with convincing power;
For why should not the virgin’s friend
Be crown’d with virgin’s bower?

One asked me where the roses grew:
I bade him not go seek,
But forwith bade my Julia show
A bud in either cheek.

'Twas but a single rose,
Till you on it did breathe;
But since, methinks, it shows
Not so much rose as wreath.