Poems (Cromwell)/To the Crowd
TO THE CROWD
When I hold a budding pleasure In my heart, can I diffuse it? No; you want the musk full-measure, Not the bud,—so you refuse it.
When I hold an ebbing sorrow, Can I share the balm with you? No; you want no lessening morrow, But meridian's deepest hue.
Blossom of my joy completest, Zenith of my sorrow's hour, Yours. So I may keep the sweetest: Buds and lees—ambrosial power.