Diary of the Plague Year: Day 45 29 April 2020: Quotidian Poetry: Eight Metaphysical Poets Richard Crashaw (1612/13-1649)

Love, brave Vertues younger Brother,
    Erst hath made my Heart a Mother,
    Shee consults the conscious Sphreares,
    To calculate her young sons years.
    She askes if sad, or saving powers,
    Gave Omen to his infant howers,
    Shee akses each starre that then stood by,
    If poore Love shall live or dy.
Ah my Heart, is that the way?
   Are these the Beames that rule thy Day?
   Thou know’st a Face in whose each looke,
   Beauty layes ope Loves Fortune-booke
   On whose faire revolutions wait
   The obsequious motions of Loves fate;
   Ah my Heart, her eyes and shee,
   Have taught thee new Astrologie.
   How e’er Loves native hours were set,
   What ever starry Synod met,
   ‘Tis in the mercy of her eye,
   If poore Love shall live or dye.
If those sharpe Rayes putting on
  Points of Death bid Love be gon,
  (Though the Heavens in counsel sate,
  To crowne an uncontrouled Fate,
  Though their best Aspects twin’d upon
  The kindest Constellation,
  Cast amorous glances on his Birth,
  And whisper’d the confederate Earth
  To pave his paths with all the good
  That wars the Bed of youth and blood;)
  Love has not plea against her eye,
  Beauty frownes, and Love must dye.
But if her milder influence move,
  And gild the hopes of humble Love:
  (Though heavens inauspicious eye
  Lay blacke on Loves Nativitie;
  Though every Diamond in Joves crowne
  Fix his forehead to a frowne,)
  Her eye a strong appeale can give,
  Beauty smiles and Love shall live.
O if Love shall live, O where,
  But in her Eye, or in her Eare,
  In her Brest, or in her Breath,
  Shall I hide poore Love from Death?
  For in the life ought else can give,
  Love shall dye, although he live.
Or if Love shall duye, O where
  But in her Eye, or in her Eare
  In her Breath, or in her Breast,
  Shall I Build his funeral Nest?
  While Love shall thus entombed lye,
  Love shall live, although he dye.