Her Hair

Welcome, blest Symptom of Consent,
More welcome far,
Than if a Star,
In stead of this bright Hair,
Should beautifie mine Ear,
And light me to my banishment,

Methinks I'm now all sacred fire,
And wholly grown
Devotion:
Sensual Love's in chains,
And all my boiling Veins
Are blown with sanctifi'd desire.

Sure she is Heaven it self, and I,
In fervent zeal,
This lock did steal,
And each Life-giving Thread,
Snatch't from her beamy Head,
As once Prometheus from the Sky.

No: 'tis a nobler Treasure: She
(Won to believe)
Was pleas'd to give
These rays unto my care:
The Sphears have none so fair,
Nor yet so blest a Deitie.

Yet knows she not what she has done,
She'll hear my Prayers,
And see my Tears;
She's now a Nazarite
Rob'd of her vigorous Light,
For her resisting Strength is gone.

I now could glory in my Power,
And in pretence
Of my suspence,
Revenge, by kissing those
Twins, that Natures pride disclose,
My Languishing and tedious hours.

Yet I'll not triumph: but, since she
Will that I go
Thus wrapt in woe,
I'll tempt my prouder Fate
T'improve my Estimate,
And justle with my Destiny.

As well I may, thus being sure,
Whether on Land
I firmly stand;
Or Fortunes footsteps trace,
Or Neptunes foamy face,
Mischance to conquer; or endure.

If, on a swelling Wave I ride,
When Eolus
His winds lets loose,
Those winds shall silent ly,
And moist Orion dry,
By virtue of this charming guide.

Or, if I hazard in a Field,
Where Danger is
The sole Mistress,
Where Death, in all his shapes,
Commits his horrid rapes,
And he, that but now slew, is kill'd;

Then in my daring Crest I'll place
This plume of light
T'amaze the sight
O'th' fiercest Sons of Mars,
That rage in bloody Wars;
And make them fly my Conquering face.

Thus in her favour I am blest;
And, if by these
Few of her rays
I am exalted so,
What will my Passions do
When I have purchas'd all the rest?

They must continue in the same
Vigour, and force,
Better, nor worse:
I lov'd so well before,
I cannot love her more,
Nor can I mitigate my Flame.

In Love then persevere I will
Till my hairs grow
As white as Snow:
And, when in my warm Veins
Nought but trembling cold remain
My youthful love shall flourish still.