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) 

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