Classic Poem

A Song .
1
Come away; bring thy golden theft,
Bring, bright Prometheus , all thy lights;
Thy fires from Heav'n bereft
Shew now to humane sights.
Come quickly, come: thy stars to our stars straight present,
For pleasure, being too much defer'd, loseth her best content.
What fair dames wish should swift as their own thoughts appeare;
To loving and to longing harts every houre seemes a yeare.
2

See how faire: O how faire they shine;
What yeelds more pompe beneath the skies?
Their birth is yet divine,
And such their forme implies.
Large grow their beames, their nere approch afford them so;
By nature sights that pleasing are, cannot too amply show.
O might these flames in humane shapes descend this place,
How lovely would their presence be, how full of grace!