Show me dear
Christ, thy spouse so bright and clear.
What! is it she which on the other shore
Goes richly painted? or which, robb'd and tore,
Laments and mourns in
Germany and here?
Sleeps she a thousand, then peeps up one year?
Is she self-truth, and errs? now new, now outwore?
Doth she, and did she, and shall she evermore
On one, on seven, or on no hill appear?
Dwells she with us, or like adventuring knights
First travel we to
seek, and then
make love?
Betray, kind husband, thy spouse to our sights,
And let mine
amorous soul court thy mild
Dove,
Who is most true and pleasing to thee then
When she'is embrac'd and
open to most men.
- John Donne