NEW YEAR'S DAY by RICHARD CRASHAW

Rise, thou best and brightest morning!
Rosy with a double Red;
With thine own blush thy cheeks adorning
And the dear drops this day were shed.

All the purple pride that laces
The crimson curtains of thy bed,
Guilds thee not with so sweet graces
Nor setts thee in so rich a red.

Of all the fair-cheek't flowrs that fill thee
None so fair thy bosom strowes,
As this modest maiden lilly
Our sins have sham'd into a rose.

Bid thy golden GOD, the Sun,
Burnisht in his best beames rise,
Put all his red-ey'd Rubies on;
These Rubies shall putt out their eyes.

Let him make poor the purple east,
Search what the world's close cabinets keep,
Rob the rich births of each bright nest
That flaming in their fair beds sleep,

Let him embrave his own bright tresses
With a new morning made of gemmes;
And wear, in those his wealthy dresses,
Another Day of Diadems.

When he hath done all he may
To make himselfe rich in his rise,
All will be darknes to the Day
That breakes from one of these bright eyes.

And soon this sweet truth shall appear
Dear BABE, ere many dayes be done,
The morn shall come to meet thee here,
And leave her own neglected Sun.

Here are Beautyes shall bereave him
Of all his eastern Paramours.
His Persian Lovers all shall leave him,
And swear faith to thy sweeter Powres.

Nor while they leave him shall they lose the Sun,
But in thy fairest eyes find two for one.

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