The Works of Abraham Cowley/Volume 2/Clad all in White

by Abraham Cowley

CLAD ALL IN WHITE.

Fairest thing that shines below,
Why in this robe dost thou appear?
Wouldst thou a white most perfect show,
Thou must at all no garment wear:
Thou wilt seem much whiter so,
Than winter when 't is clad with snow.

'T is not the linen shews so fair;
Her skin shines through, and makes it bright:
So clouds themselves like suns appear,
When the sun pierces them with light:
So, lilies in a glass inclose,
The glass will seem as white as those.

Thou now one heap of beauty art;
Nought outwards, or within, is foul:
Condensed beams make every part;
Thy body 's clothed like thy soul;
Thy soul, which does itself display,
Like a star plac'd i' th' milky way.

Such robes the saints departed wear,
Woven all with light divine;
Such their exalted bodies are,
And with such full glory shine:
But they regard not mortals' pain;
Men pray, I fear, to both in vain.

Yet, seeing thee so gently pure,
My hopes will needs continue still;
Thou wouldst not take this garment, sure,
When thou hadst an intent to kill!
Of peace and yielding who would doubt,
When the white flag he sees hung out?