The Works of Abraham Cowley/Volume 2/Her Name

by Abraham Cowley

HER NAME.

With more than Jewish reverence as yet
Do the sacred name conceal;
When, ye kind stars, ah when will it be fit
This gentle mystery to reveal?
When will our love be nam'd, and we possess
That christening as a badge of happiness.

So bold as yet no verse of mine has been,
To wear that gem on any line;
Nor, till the happy nuptial Muse be seen,
Shall any stanza with it shine,
Rest, mighty name! till then; for thou must be
Laid down by her, ere taken up by me.

Then all the fields and woods shall with it ring;
Then Echo's burthen it shall be;
Then all the birds in several notes shall sing,
And all the rivers murmur, thee;
Then every wind the sound shall upwards bear,
And softly whisper 't to some angel's ear.

Then shall thy name through all my verse be spread,
Thick as the flowers in meadows lie,
And, when in future times they shall be read
(As sure, I think, they will not die)
If any critick doubt that they be mine,
Men by that stamp shall quickly know the coin.

Meanwhile I will not dare to make a name
To represent thee by;
Adam (God's nomenclator) could not frame
One that enough should signify:
Astrea or Celia as unfit would prove
For thee, as ’tis to call the Deity Jove.

 

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