Lament For Zenocrate
Black
is
the
beauty
of
the
brightest
day,
The
golden
ball
of
heaven's
eternal
fire,
That
danced
with
glory
on
the
silver
waves,
Now
wants
the
fuel
that
inflamed
his
beams:
And
all
with
faintness
and
for
foul
disgrace,
He
binds
his
temples
with
a
frowning
cloud,
Ready
to
darken
earth
with
endless
night:
Zenocrate
that
gave
him
light
and
life,
Whose
eyes
shot
fire
from
their
ivory
bowers,
And
tempered
every
soul
with
lively
heat,
Now
by
the
malice
of
the
angry
skies,
Whose
jealousy
admits
no
second
mate,
Draws
in
the
comfort
of
her
latest
breath
All
dazzled
with
the
hellish
mists
of
death.
Now
walk
the
angels
on
the
walls
of
heaven,
As
sentinels
to
warn
th'immortal
souls,
To
entertain
divine
Zenocrate.
Apollo,
Cynthia,
and
the
ceaseless
lamps
That
gently
looked
upon
this
loathsome
earth,
Shine
downwards
now
no
more,
but
deck
the
heavens
To
entertain
divine
Zenocrate.
The
crystal
springs
whose
taste
illuminates
Refined
eyes
with
an
eternal
sight,
Like
tried
silver
runs
through
Paradise
To
entertain
divine
Zenocrate.
The
Cherubins
and
holy
Seraphins
That
sing
and
play
before
the
King
of
Kings,
Use
all
their
voices
and
their
instruments
To
entertain
divine
Zenocrate.
And
in
this
sweet
and
curious
harmony,
The
God
that
tunes
this
music
to
our
souls,
Holds
out
his
hand
in
highest
majesty
To
entertain
divine
Zenocrate.
Then
let
some
holy
trance
convey
my
thoughts,
Up
to
the
palace
of
th'imperial
heaven:
That
this
my
life
may
be
as
short
to
me
As
are
the
days
of
sweet
Zenocrate.
