ODE 2.
To the New Year.
Ich statue double faced!
With marble temples graced,
To raise thy godhead higher;
In flames where, altars shining,
Before thy Priests divining,
Do od'rous fumes expire.
Great Janus, I thy pleasure,
With all the Thespian treasure,
Do seriously pursue:
To th' passed year returning,
As though the Old adjourning;
Yet bringing in the New.
Thy ancient Vigils yearly,
I have observèd clearly;
Thy Feasts yet smoking be!
Since all thy store abroad is;
Give something to my goddess,
As hath been used by thee!
Give her th' Eoan Brightness!
Winged with that subtle lightness
That doth transpierce the air;
The Roses of the Morning!
The rising heaven adorning,
To mesh with flames of hair;
Those ceaseless Sounds, above all,
Made by those orbs that move all;
And ever swelling there:
Wrapped up in Numbers flowing,
Them actually bestowing
For jewels at her ear.
O rapture great and holy,
Do thou transport me wholly
So well her form to vary!
That I aloft may bear her
Where as I will insphere her
In regions high and starry.
And in my choice Composures,
The soft and easy Closures
So amorously shall meet,
That every lively Ceasure
Shall tread a perfect measure,
Set on so equal feet.
That spray to fame so fert'le,
The lover-crowning myrtle,
In wreaths of mixèd boughs;
Within whose shades are dwelling
Those beauties most excelling,
Enthroned upon her brows.
Those parallels so even,
Drawn on the face of heaven,
That curious Art supposes;
Direct those gems, whose clearness
Far off amaze by nearness,
Each globe such fire encloses.
Her bosom full of blisses,
By Nature made for kisses;
So pure and wondrous clear:
Where as a thousand Graces
Behold their lovely faces,
As they are bathing there.
O thou self-little Blindness!
The kindness of unkindness,
Yet one of those Divine:
Thy Brands to me were lever,
Thy Fascia, and thy Quiver,
And thou this Quill of mine.
This heart so freshly bleeding,
Upon its own self feeding;
Whose wounds still dropping be:
O Love, thyself confounding,
Her coldness so abounding,
And yet such heat in me.
Yet, if I be inspirèd,
I'll leave thee so admirèd
To all that shall succeed;
That were they more than many,
'Mongst all there is not any
That Time so oft shall read.
Nor adamant ingravèd,
That hath been choicely savèd,
Idea's name outwears:
So large a dower as this is;
The greatest often misses,
The diadem that bears.