To the Innocents

 

Go, smiling souls, your new-built cages break,
In heaven you’ll learn to sing, ere here to speak,

Nor let the milky fonts that bathe your thirst
                                           Be your delay;
The place that calls you hence is, at the worst,
                                           Milk all the way.

 

Richard Crashaw (c. 1613 – 1649) 

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Published in: on July 18, 2014 at 5:38 am  Leave a Comment  
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