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RICHARD CRASHAW
��Wishes to His Supposed Mistress
r HOE'ER she be- That not impossible She That shall command my heart and me:
Where'er she lie,
Lock'd up from mortal eye
In shady leaves of destiny:
Till that ripe birth
Of studied Fate stand forth,
And teach her fair steps to our earth:
Till that divine
Idea take a shrine
Of crystal flesh, through which to shine:
Meet you her, my Wishes,
Bespeak her to my blisses,
And be ye calPd my absent kisses.
I wish her Beauty,
That owes not all its duty
To gaudy tire, or glist'ring shoe-tie:
Something more than Taffata or tissue can, Or rampant feather, or rich fan.
A Face, that 's best By its own beauty drest, And can alone commend the rest.
�� �
