Epithalamion

Long may this happy heaven-tied band

            Exercise its most holy art,

Keeping her heart within his hand,

            Keeping his hand upon her heart

                        Except from her eyes

                                    Feel he no charms;

                        Find she no joy

                                    But in his arms;

May each maintain a well-fledged nest

Of winged loves in either’s breast;

Be each of them a mutual sacrifice

                                    Of either’s eyes.

May their whole life a sweet song prove

            Set to two well-composed parts

By music’s noblest master, Love,

            Played on the strings of both their hearts;

                        Whose mutual sound

                                    May ever meet

                        In a just round

                                    Not short though sweet;

Long may heaven listen to the song

And think it short though it be long;

Oh, prove’t a well-set song indeed, which shows

                        Sweetest in the close.

--Richard Crashaw