Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, LUCASTA AT THE BATH, by RICHARD LOVELACE


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LUCASTA AT THE BATH, by                 Poet Analysis     Poet's Biography
First Line: I' th' autumn of a summer's day
Last Line: Wilt unto love, thy captive, bow.


I' TH' autumn of a summer's day,
When all the winds got leave to play,
Lucasta, that fair ship, is launch'd,
And from its crust this almond blanch'd.

Blow then, unruly North-wind, blow,
Till in their holds your eyes you stow;
And swell your cheeks, bequeath chill death:
See! she hath smil'd thee out of breath!

Court, gentle Zephyr, court and fan
Her softer breast's carnation'd wan;
Your charming rhetoric of down
Flies scatter'd from before her frown.

Say, my white water-lily, say,
How is 't those warm streams break away,
Cut by thy chaste cold breast which dwells
Amidst them arm'd in icicles?

And the hot floods, more raging grown
In flames of thee than in their own,
In their distempers wildly glow,
And kiss thy pillar of fix'd snow.

No sulphur, through whose each blue vein
The thick and lazy currents strain,
Can cure the smarting, nor the fell
Blisters of love wherewith they swell.

These great physicians of the blind,
The lame, and fatal blains of Ind,
In every drop themselves now see
Speckled with a new leprosy.

As sick drinks are with old wine dash'd,
Foul waters too with spirits wash'd,
Thou griev'd, perchance, one tear let'st fall,
Which straight did purify them all.

And now is cleans'd enough the flood,
Which since runs clear, as doth thy blood;
Of the wet pearls uncrown thy hair,
And mantle thee with ermine air.

Lucasta, hail! fair conqueress
Of fire, air, earth, and seas;
Thou whom all kneel to, yet even thou
Wilt unto Love, thy captive, bow.





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