Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, UPON THE DEATH OF MR. HERRYS, by RICHARD CRASHAW


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UPON THE DEATH OF MR. HERRYS, by                 Poet Analysis     Poet's Biography
First Line: A plant of noble stemme, forward and faire
Last Line: O doe thou water it with one kind teare.
Subject(s): Herrys, William (d. 1631)


A Plant of noble stemme, forward and faire,
As ever whisper'd to the Morning Aire
Thriv'd in these happy Grounds, the Earth's just pride,
Whose rising Glories made such haste to hide
His head in Cloudes, as if in him alone
Impatient Nature had taught motion
To start from Time, and cheerfully to fly
Before, and seize upon Maturity.
Thus grew this gratious plant, in whose sweet shade
The Sunne himselfe oft wisht to sit, and made
The Morning Muses perch like Birds, and sing
Among his Branches: yea, and vow'd to bring
His owne delicious Phoenix from the blest
Arabia, there to build her Virgin nest,
To hatch her selfe in, 'mongst his leaves the Day
Fresh from the Rosie East rejoyc't to play.
To them shee gave the first and fairest Beame
That waited on her Birth: she gave to them
The purest Pearles, that wept her Evening Death,
The balmy Zephirus got so sweet a Breath
By often kissing them. And now begun
Glad Time to ripen expectation.
The timourous Maiden-Blossomes on each Bough,
Peept forth from their first blushes: so that now
A Thousand ruddy hopes smil'd in each Bud,
And flatter'd every greedy eye that stood
Fixt in Delight, as if already there
Those rare fruits dangled, whence the Golden Yeare
His crowne expected, when (o Fate, o Time
That seldome lett'st a blushing youthfull Prime
Hide his hot Beames in shade of silver Age;
So rare is hoary vertue) the dire rage
Of a mad storme these bloomy joyes all tore,
Ravisht the Maiden Blossoms, and downe bore
The trunke. Yet in this ground his pretious Root
Still lives, which when weake Time shall be pour'd out
Into Eternity, and circular joyes
Dance in an endlesse round, againe shall rise
The faire son of an ever-youthfull Spring,
To be a shade for Angels while they sing,
Meane while who e're thou art that passest here,
O doe thou water it with one kind Teare.





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