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BRIDAL SONG, by                 Poet Analysis     Poet's Biography
First Line: O come, soft rest of cares! Come, night!
Last Line: The field his arms.
Subject(s): Wedding Song; Epithalamium


O COME, soft rest of cares! come, Night!
Come, naked Virtue's only tire,
The reaped harvest of the light
Bound up in sheaves of sacred fire.
Love calls to war:
Sighs his alarms,
Lips his swords are,
The field his arms.

Come, Night, and lay thy velvet hand
On glorious Day's outfacing face;
And all thy crowned flames command
For torches to our nuptial grace.
Love calls to war:
Sighs his alarms,
Lips his swords are,
The field his arms.





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