William Strode.

1602-1645

404    Chloris in the Snow

I SAW fair Chloris walk alone,
When feather’d rain came softly down,
As Jove descending from his Tower
To court her in a silver shower:
The wanton snow flew to her breast,
Like pretty birds into their nest,
But, overcome with whiteness there,
For grief it thaw’d into a tear:
   Thence falling on her garments’ hem,
   To deck her, froze into a gem.

405   In Commendation of Music

WHEN whispering strains do softly steal
With creeping passion through the heart
And when at every touch we feel
Our pulses beat and bear a part;
   When threads can make
   A heartstring shake
   Philosophy
   Can scarce deny
The soul consists of harmony.

When unto heavenly joy we feign
Whate’er the soul affecteth most,
Which only thus we can explain
By music of the wingàed host,
   Whose lays we think
   Make stars to wink,
   Philosophy
   Can scarce deny
Our souls consist of harmony.

O lull me, lull me, charming air,
My senses rock with wonder sweet;
Like snow on wool thy fallings are,
Soft, like a spirit’s, are thy feet:
   Grief who need fear
   That hath an ear?
   Down let him lie
   And slumbring die,
And change his soul for harmony.