Treasure Island

George Chapman

(1559 – 12 May 1634 / Hitchin, Hertfordshire, England)

Bridal Song


O COME, soft rest of cares! come, Night!
   Come, naked Virtue's only tire,
The reaped harvest of the light
   Bound up in sheaves of sacred fire.
   Love calls to war:
   Sighs his alarms,
   Lips his swords are,
   The field his arms.

Come, Night, and lay thy velvet hand
   On glorious Day's outfacing face;
And all thy crowned flames command
   For torches to our nuptial grace.
   Love calls to war:
   Sighs his alarms,
   Lips his swords are,
   The field his arms.

Submitted: Saturday, January 04, 2003

Do you like this poem?
0 person liked.
0 person did not like.

Read poems about / on: war, fire, night, light, song, love

Read this poem in other languages

This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.

I would like to translate this poem »

word flags

What do you think this poem is about?

Comments about this poem (Bridal Song by George Chapman )

Enter the verification code :

There is no comment submitted by members..

Top Poems

  1. Phenomenal Woman
    Maya Angelou
  2. The Road Not Taken
    Robert Frost
  3. If You Forget Me
    Pablo Neruda
  4. Still I Rise
    Maya Angelou
  5. Dreams
    Langston Hughes
  6. Annabel Lee
    Edgar Allan Poe
  7. If
    Rudyard Kipling
  8. Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening
    Robert Frost
  9. I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings
    Maya Angelou
  10. Invictus
    William Ernest Henley

PoemHunter.com Updates

New Poems

  1. The Christmas Box, Edgar Albert Guest
  2. Next Of Kin, Edgar Albert Guest
  3. The Honor Roll, Edgar Albert Guest
  4. Safe At Home, Edgar Albert Guest
  5. Old Years And New, Edgar Albert Guest
  6. She Powders Her Nose, Edgar Albert Guest
  7. Mother's Job, Edgar Albert Guest
  8. Education Coming Full Circle, RoseAnn V. Shawiak
  9. What Father Knows, Edgar Albert Guest
  10. To The Boy, Edgar Albert Guest

Poem of the Day

poet Henry David Thoreau

My books I'd fain cast off, I cannot read,
'Twixt every page my thoughts go stray at large
Down in the meadow, where is richer feed,
And will not mind to hit their proper targe.
...... Read complete »

   
[Hata Bildir]