Poems by Thomas Carew

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Murdering Beauty

I'LL gaze no more on her bewitching face,

Since ruin harbours there in every place ;

For my enchanted soul alike she drowns

With calms and tempests of her smiles and frowns.

I’ll love no more those cruel eyes of hers,

Which, pleased or anger’d, still are murderers :

For if she dart, like lightning, through the air

Her beams of wrath, she kills me with despair :

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by Thomas Carew

The Spring

Now that the winter's gone, the earth hath lost

Her snow-white robes, and now no more the frost

Candies the grass, or casts an icy cream

Upon the silver lake or crystal stream;

But the warm sun thaws the benumbed earth,

And makes it tender; gives a sacred birth

To the dead swallow; wakes in hollow tree

The drowsy cuckoo, and the humble-bee.

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by Thomas Carew

The True Beauty

He that loves a rosy cheek

Or coral lip admires,

Or from star-like eyes doth seek

Fuel to maintain his fires ;

As old Time makes these decay,

So his flames must waste away.

But a smooth and steadfast mind,

Gentle thoughts, and calm desires,

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by Thomas Carew

An Elegy Upon The Death Of Dr Donne, Dean Of Paul's

Can we not force from widow'd poetry,

Now thou art dead (great Donne) one elegy

To crown thy hearse? Why yet dare we not trust,

Though with unkneaded dough-bak'd prose, thy dust,

Such as th' unscissor'd churchman from the flower

Of fading rhetoric, short-liv'd as his hour,

Dry as the sand that measures it, should lay

Upon thy ashes, on the funeral day?

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by Thomas Carew

Disdain Returned

He that loves a rosy cheek,

Or a coral lip admires,

Or from star-like eyes doth seek

Fuel to maintain his fires;

As old Time makes these decay,

So his flames must waste away.

But a smooth and steadfast mind,

Gentle thoughts and calm desires,

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by Thomas Carew

Secrecy Protested

FEAR not, dear love, that I'll reveal

Those hours of pleasure we two steal ;

No eye shall see, nor yet the sun

Descry, what thou and I have done.

No ear shall hear our love, but we

Silent as the night will be ;

The god of love himself (whose dart

Did first wound mine and then thy heart),

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by Thomas Carew

A Cruel Mistress

We read of kings and gods that kindly took

A pitcher fill'd with water from the brook ;

But I have daily tender'd without thanks

Rivers of tears that overflow their banks.

A slaughter'd bull will appease angry Jove,

A horse the Sun, a lamb the god of love,

But she disdains the spotless sacrifice

Of a pure heart, that at her altar lies.

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by Thomas Carew

To A L Persuasions To Love

THINK not, 'cause men flattering say

You're fresh as April, sweet as May,

Bright as is the morning star,

That you are so ; or, though you are,

Be not therefore proud, and deem

All men unworthy your esteem :

For, being so, you lose the pleasure

Of being fair, since that rich treasure

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by Thomas Carew

Ingrateful Beauty Threatened

Know Celia, since thou art so proud,

'Twas I that gave thee thy renown;

Thou hadst, in the forgotten crowd

Of common beauties, liv'd unknown,

Had not my verse exhal'd thy name,

And with it imp'd the wings of fame.

That killing power is none of thine,

I gave it to thy voice, and eyes;

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by Thomas Carew

When June Is Past, The Fading Rose

Ask me no more where Jove bestows,

When June is past, the fading rose;

For in your beauty's orient deep

These flowers as in their causes, sleep.

Ask me no more whither doth stray

The golden atoms of the day;

For in pure love heaven did prepare

Those powders to enrich your hair.

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by Thomas Carew

To Ben Jonson Upon Occasion Of His Ode Of Defiance Annexed

'Tis true, dear Ben, thy just chastising hand

Hath fix'd upon the sotted age a brand

To their swoll'n pride and empty scribbling due;

It can nor judge, nor write, and yet 'tis true

Thy comic muse, from the exalted line

Touch'd by thy Alchemist, doth since decline

From that her zenith, and foretells a red

And blushing evening, when she goes to bed;

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Thomas Carew

My Mistress Commanding Me To Return Her Letters

SO grieves th' adventurous merchant, when he throws

All the long toil'd-for treasure his ship stows

Into the angry main, to save from wrack

Himself and men, as I grieve to give back

These letters : yet so powerful is your sway

As if you bid me die, I must obey.

Go then, blest papers, you shall kiss those hands

That gave you freedom, but hold me in bands ;

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Thomas Carew