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diff --git a/38839-h/38839-h.htm b/38839-h/38839-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..4af0547 --- /dev/null +++ b/38839-h/38839-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,4778 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.1//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml11/DTD/xhtml11.dtd"> + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en"> + +<head> + +<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=ISO-8859-1" /> + +<title> +The Project Gutenberg E-text of A Little Book of Old Time Verse, +by Gladys Sidney Crouch +</title> + +<style type="text/css"> +body { color: black; + background: white; + margin-right: 10%; + margin-left: 10%; + font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; + text-align: justify } + +p {text-indent: 4% } + +p.noindent {text-indent: 0% } + +p.t1 {text-indent: 0% ; + font-size: 200%; + text-align: center } + +p.t2 {text-indent: 0% ; + font-size: 150%; + text-align: center } + +p.t3 {text-indent: 0% ; + font-size: 100%; + text-align: center } + +p.t3b {text-indent: 0% ; + font-size: 100%; + font-weight: bold; + text-align: center } + +p.t4 {text-indent: 0% ; + font-size: 80%; + text-align: center } + +p.t4b {text-indent: 0% ; + font-size: 80%; + font-weight: bold; + text-align: center } + +p.t5 {text-indent: 0% ; + font-size: 60%; + text-align: center } + +h1 { text-align: center } +h2 { text-align: center } +h3 { text-align: center } +h4 { text-align: center } +h5 { text-align: center } + +p.poem {text-indent: 0%; + margin-left: 10%; } + +p.authors { text-indent: -5%; + margin-left: 5% } + +p.dedication {text-indent: 5%; + margin-left: 20% ; + margin-right: 20% } + +p.finis { font-size: larger ; + text-align: center ; + text-indent: 0% ; + margin-left: 0% ; + margin-right: 0% } + +p.capcenter { margin-left: 0; + margin-right: 0 ; + margin-bottom: .5% ; + margin-top: 0; + font-weight: bold; + float: none ; + clear: both ; + text-indent: 0%; + text-align: center } + +img.imgcenter { margin-left: auto; + margin-bottom: 0; + margin-top: 1%; + margin-right: auto; } + +</style> + +</head> + +<body> + + +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of A Little Book of Old Time Verse, by Various + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: A Little Book of Old Time Verse + Old Fashioned Flowers + +Author: Various + +Editor: Gladys Sidney Crouch + +Release Date: February 12, 2012 [EBook #38839] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A LITTLE BOOK OF OLD TIME VERSE *** + + + + +Produced by Al Haines + + + + + +</pre> + + +<p class="capcenter"> +<br /><br /><br /> +<a id="img-fcover"></a> +<img class="imgcenter" src="images/img-fcover.jpg" alt="Front cover" /> +</p> + +<p><br /><br /><br /></p> + +<h1> +A Little Book of +<br /> +Old Time Verse +</h1> + +<p><br /></p> + +<p class="t3"> +Old-fashioned Flowers +<br /> +Gathered by +</p> + +<p><br /><br /></p> + +<p class="t2"> +Gladys Sidney Crouch +</p> + +<p><br /><br /><br /></p> + +<p class="t4"> +Published by +<br /> +P. F. Volland Company +<br /> +NEW YORK CHICAGO TORONTO +</p> + +<p><br /><br /><br /></p> + +<p class="t4"> +Copyright, 1917 +<br /> +P. F. Volland Company +<br /> +Chicago +</p> + +<p><br /><br /><br /></p> + +<p class="t3"> +<i>To My Father</i> +</p> + +<p class="dedication"> +That the verses in this little book will bring back sweet memories of +the long ago to every reader, as they do to me, is the earnest wish of +the humble gatherer of these old-fashioned flowers. <i>G. S. C.</i> +</p> + +<p><br /><br /><br /></p> + +<h2> +CHRONOLOGICAL INDEX OF AUTHORS +</h2> + +<p><br /></p> + +<p class="noindent"> +<i>Sir Edward Dyer</i>. (Born 1550—Died 1607.)<br /> + <a href="#p19">To Phyllis, the Fair Shepherdess</a><br /> +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +<i>Sir Philip Sidney</i>. (Born 1554—Died 1586.)<br /> + <a href="#p18">A Ditty</a><br /> +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +<i>John Lyly</i>. (Born 1554—Died 1606.)<br /> + <a href="#p42">Appelles' Song</a><br /> +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +<i>Thomas Lodge</i>. (Born 1556—Died 1625.)<br /> + <a href="#p15">Love's Wantonness</a><br /> +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +<i>Thomas Campion</i>. (Born (unknown)—Died 1619.)<br /> + <a href="#p45">Thrice toss these oaken ashes in the air</a><br /> + <a href="#p45">Come, O come, my life's delight</a><br /> +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +<i>Robert Green</i>. (Born 1560—Died 1592.)<br /> + <a href="#p21">Content</a><br /> +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +<i>Christopher Marlowe</i>. (Born 1562—Died 1593.)<br /> + <a href="#p20">The Passionate Shepherd to His Love</a><br /> +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +<i>William Shakespeare</i>. (Born 1564—Died 1616.)<br /> + <a href="#p44">O Mistress Mine, Where are you Roaming</a><br /> +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +<i>Ben Jonson</i>. (Born 1573—Died 1637.)<br /> + <a href="#p22">To Celia</a><br /> +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +<i>John Donne</i>. (Born 1573—Died 1631.)<br /> + <a href="#p15">Song</a><br /> +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +<i>Francis Beaumont</i>. (Born 1584—Died 1610.)<br /> + <a href="#p16">Fie on Love</a><br /> +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +<i>George Wither</i>. (Born 1588—Died 1667.)<br /> + <a href="#p24">The Author's Resolution in a Sonnet</a><br /> +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +<i>Thomas Carew</i>. (Born 1589—Died 1639.)<br /> + <a href="#p25">Song</a><br /> + <a href="#p16">A Fragment</a><br /> + <a href="#p17">Truce in Love Entreate</a>d<br /> + <a href="#p28">Phillida Flouts Me</a><br /> +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +<i>Robert Herrick</i>. (Born 1591—Died 1674.)<br /> + <a href="#p63">A Hymn to Love</a><br /> + <a href="#p55">To Anthea</a><br /> + <a href="#p27">To Daffodils</a><br /> + <a href="#p18">To Electra</a><br /> + <a href="#p23">To his Mistress</a><br /> + <a href="#p72">To his Mistress, Objecting to his Neither Toying nor Talking</a><br /> + <a href="#p33">To the Virgins, to make much of Time</a><br /> +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +<i>Henry King</i>. (Born 1592—Died 1669.)<br /> + <a href="#p43">On the Life of Man</a><br /> +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +<i>Thomas Bateson</i>. (Born 1600—Died (no record).)<br /> + <a href="#p51">Her hair the net of golden wire</a><br /> +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +<i>Sir William D'Avenant</i>. (Born 1605—Died 1668.)<br /> + <a href="#p67">The Lark now Leaves his Watr'y Nest</a><br /> +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +<i>Edmund Waller</i>. (Born 1605—Died 1687.)<br /> + <a href="#p65">Song: Go Lovely Rose</a><br /> + <a href="#p30">Song to Flavia</a><br /> +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +<i>Sir John Suckling</i>. (Born 1609—Died 1641.)<br /> + <a href="#p31">Why so pale and wan, fond lover</a><br /> + <a href="#p41">Song: O pr'y thee send me back my heart</a><br /> + <a href="#p57">The Constant Lover</a><br /> +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +<i>Richard Lovelace</i>. (Born 1618—Died 1658.)<br /> + <a href="#p42">Stone walls do not a prison make</a><br /> + <a href="#p43">To Althea, from Prison</a><br /> + <a href="#p47">To Lucasta, on going to the wars</a><br /> +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +<i>Thomas Stanley</i>. (Born 1625—Died 1678.)<br /> + <a href="#p94">Speaking and Kissing</a><br /> +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +<i>Walter Porter</i>. (Born (no record)—Died 1649.)<br /> + <a href="#p62">Love in thy youth, fair maid, be wise</a><br /> +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +<i>George Granville</i> (Lord Lansdowne). (Born 1668—Died 1735.)<br /> + <a href="#p64">Adieu L'Amour</a><br /> +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +<i>William Congreve</i>. (Born 1672—Died 1728.)<br /> + <a href="#p74">Song: Though she be false to me and love</a><br /> +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +<i>John Oldmixon</i>. (Born 1673—Died 1742.)<br /> + <a href="#p74">Song: I lately vowed but 'twas in haste</a><br /> +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +<i>Dr. Isaac Watts</i>. (Born 1674—Died 1748.)<br /> + <a href="#p86">Few Happy Matches</a><br /> +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +<i>Aaron Hill</i>. (Born 1684—Died 1749.)<br /> + <a href="#p86">Song: Gentle love, this hour befriend me</a><br /> +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +<i>William Somerville</i>. (Born 1692—Died 1742.)<br /> + <a href="#p76">Cupid Mistaken</a><br /> + <a href="#p76">Song: Hard is the fate of him who loves</a><br /> + <a href="#p89">To a discarded toast</a><br /> +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +<i>Thomas Walker</i>. (Born 1698—Died 1743.)<br /> + <a href="#p22">Sweet love, I will no more abuse thee</a><br /> +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +<i>James Thomson</i>. (Born 1700—Died 1748.)<br /> + <a href="#p31">Unless with my Amanda blest</a><br /> +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +<i>George Lyttleton</i>. (Born 1709—Died 1773.)<br /> + <a href="#p69">Song: When Delia on the plain appear</a><br /> +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +<i>Edward Moore</i>. (Born 1711—Died 1757.)<br /> + <a href="#p59">Song: How blest has my time been</a><br /> +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +<i>John Wilke</i>. (Born 1727—Died 1797.)<br /> + <a href="#p23">Love not me for comely grace</a><br /> +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +<i>Robert Burns</i>. (Born 1759—Died 1796.)<br /> + <a href="#p94">Delia</a><br /> + <a href="#p21">My Jean</a><br /> + <a href="#p44">Of A' the Airts the Wind Can Blaw</a><br /> + <a href="#p90">The Bonnie Wee Thing</a><br /> +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +<i>Sir Walter Scott</i>. (Born 1771—Died 1832.)<br /> + <a href="#p81">The Truth of Woman</a><br /> +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +<i>Samuel Taylor Coleridge</i>. (Born 1772—Died 1834.)<br /> + <a href="#p82">Names</a><br /> +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +<i>Walter Savage Landor</i>. (Born 1775—Died 1864.)<br /> + <a href="#p54">The Maid I love ne'er thought of me</a><br /> +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +<i>William Stanley Roscoe</i>. (Born 1782—Died 1841.)<br /> + <a href="#p39">To Spring: On the Banks of the Cam</a><br /> +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +<i>Leigh Hunt</i>. (Born 1784—Died 1859.)<br /> + <a href="#p17">Jenny Kissed Me</a><br /> + <a href="#p96">The Nun</a><br /> +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +<i>Bryan Waller Proctor</i>. (Born 1787—Died 1874.)<br /> + <a href="#p93">Hermione</a><br /> +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +<i>George Gordon</i> (Lord Byron). (Born 1788—Died 1824.)<br /> + <a href="#p71">There be none of Beauty's daughters</a><br /> +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +<i>William Cullen-Bryant</i>. (Born 1794—Died 1878.)<br /> + <a href="#p78">The Forest Maid</a><br /> +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +<i>George Darley</i>. (Born 1795—Died 1846.)<br /> + <a href="#p87">Love's Likeness</a><br /> +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +<i>Hartley Coleridge</i>. (Born 1796—Died 1849.)<br /> + <a href="#p91">Song: She is not fair to outward view</a><br /> + <a href="#p92">To a lofty beauty, from her poor kinsman</a><br /> +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +<i>Thomas Hood</i>. (Born 1798—Died 1845.)<br /> + <a href="#p92">Time of Roses</a><br /> +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +<i>Sir Henry Taylor</i>. (Born 1800—Died 1886.)<br /> + <a href="#p66">Song: The bee to the heather</a><br /> +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +<i>Ralph Waldo Emerson</i>. (Born 1803—Died 1882.)<br /> + <a href="#p62">Days</a><br /> +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +<i>James Clarence Mangan</i>. (Born 1803—Died 1849.)<br /> + <a href="#p70">Advice against travel</a><br /> +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +<i>Elizabeth Barrett Browning</i>. (Born 1806—Died 1861.)<br /> + <a href="#p34">My Kate</a><br /> + <a href="#p36">Grief</a><br /> +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +<i>John Greenleaf Whittier</i>. (Born 1807—Died 1892.)<br /> + <a href="#p78">Memories</a><br /> + <a href="#p79">All's Well</a><br /> +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +<i>Oliver Wendell Holmes</i>. (Born 1809—Died 1894.)<br /> + <a href="#p36">There is no friend like an old friend</a><br /> +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +<i>Robert Jones</i>. (Born 1809—Died 1879.)<br /> + <a href="#p32">Once did my thoughts both ebb and flow</a><br /> +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +<i>Alfred Tennyson</i>. (Born 1809—Died 1892.)<br /> + <a href="#p90">Song from 'The Princess'</a><br /> +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +<i>Edgar Allan Poe</i>. (Born 1809—Died 1849.)<br /> + <a href="#p80">To Helen</a><br /> +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +<i>Frances Anne Kemble</i>. (Born 1809—Died 1893.)<br /> + <a href="#p77">Faith</a><br /> +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +<i>John Stuart Blackie</i>. (Born 1809—Died 1895.)<br /> + <a href="#p75">My Loves</a><br /> +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +<i>Robert Browning</i>. (Born 1812—Died 1889.)<br /> + <a href="#p85">Home-Thoughts from Abroad</a><br /> +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +<i>Philip James Bailey</i>. (Born 1816—Died 1902.)<br /> + <a href="#p88">My Lady</a><br /> +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +<i>Henry David Thoreau</i>. (Born 1817—Died 1862.)<br /> + <a href="#p37">Love</a><br /> +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +<i>John Ruskin</i>. (Born 1819—Died 1900.)<br /> + <a href="#p37">Trust thou thy love</a><br /> +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +<i>Francis Turner Palgrave</i>. (Born 1823—Died 1897.)<br /> + <a href="#p98">Eutopia</a><br /> +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +<i>William Caldwell Roscoe</i>. (Born 1823—Died 1859.)<br /> + <a href="#p38">Spiritual Love</a><br /> +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +<i>George Meredith</i>. (Born 1828—Died 1909.)<br /> + <a href="#p54">Lucifer in Starlight</a><br /> + <a href="#p38">Woman</a><br /> + <a href="#p53">Love in the Valley</a><br /> +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +<i>Richard Garnett</i>. (Born 1835—Died 1906.)<br /> + <a href="#p56">The Fair Circassian</a><br /> +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +<i>Matilda Betham Edwards</i>. (Born 1836.)<br /> + <a href="#p72">A Valentine</a><br /> +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +<i>Christina Georgina Rossetti</i>. (Born 1839—Died 1894.)<br /> + <a href="#p61">A Birthday</a><br /> + <a href="#p70">Remember</a><br /> +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +<i>John Addington Symonds</i>. (Born 1840—Died 1893.)<br /> + <a href="#p58">Farewell</a><br /> +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +<i>Austin Dobson</i>. (Born 1840.)<br /> + <a href="#p60">On a fan that belonged to the Marquis de Pompadour</a><br /> + <a href="#p95">A Rondeau to Ethel</a><br /> +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +<i>Thomas Hardy</i>. (Born 1840.)<br /> + <a href="#p46">The Darkling Thrush</a><br /> +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +<i>Frederic William Henry Myers</i>. (Born 1843—Died 1901.)<br /> + <a href="#p50">Evanescence</a><br /> +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +<i>Robert Louis Stevenson</i>. (Born 1850—Died 1894.)<br /> + <a href="#p49">Wishes</a><br /> + <a href="#p51">Romance</a><br /> +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +<i>Francis William Bourdillon</i>. (Born 1852.)<br /> + <a href="#p80">A Violinist</a><br /> +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +<i>Edward Cracroft Lefroy</i>. (Born 1855—Died 1891.)<br /> + <a href="#p82">Ageanax</a><br /> + <a href="#p83">A Summer in Old Sicily</a><br /> +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +<i>Douglas Brook Wheelton Sladen</i>. (Born 1856.)<br /> + <a href="#p97">Under the Wattle</a><br /> +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +<i>William Sharp</i>. (Born 1856—Died 1902.)<br /> + <a href="#p84">On a nightingale in April</a><br /> +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +<i>Agnes Mary Frances Duclaux</i>. (Born 1857.)<br /> + <a href="#p52">Then, when all the feasting's done</a><br /> +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +<i>Arthur Symons</i>. (Born 1865.)<br /> + <a href="#p67">Rain on the Down</a><br /> +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +<i>William Butler Yeats</i>. (Born 1865.)<br /> + <a href="#p68">Down by the Sally Gardens</a><br /> + <a href="#p73">When you are Old</a><br /> +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +<i>Richard LeGallienne</i>. (Born 1866.)<br /> + <a href="#p68">Song: She's somewhere in the sunlight strong</a><br /> +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +<i>Alfred Noyes</i>. (Born 1880.)<br /> + <a href="#p48">A Japanese Love Song</a><br /> +</p> + +<p><br /><br /><br /></p> + +<h2> +INDEX OF FIRST LINES<br /> +</h2> + +<p class="noindent"> +<a href="#p78">A beautiful and happy girl</a><br /> +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +<a href="#p77">Better trust all, and be deceived</a><br /> +<a href="#p55">Bid me to live, and I will live</a><br /> +<a href="#p90">Bonnie wee thing, cannie wee thing</a><br /> +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +<a href="#p89">Celia, confess, 'tis all in vain</a><br /> +<a href="#p60">Chicken skin, delicate, white</a><br /> +<a href="#p23">Choose me your Valentine</a><br /> +<a href="#p20">Come live with me, and be my love</a><br /> +<a href="#p45">Come, O come, my life's delight</a><br /> +<a href="#p42">Cupid and my Campaspe played</a><br /> +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +<a href="#p62">Daughters of Time, the hypocritic Days</a><br /> +<a href="#p82">Dear voyager, a lucky star be thine</a><br /> +<a href="#p68">Down by the sally gardens</a><br /> +<a href="#p22">Drink to me only with thine eyes</a><br /> +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +<a href="#p27">Fair daffodils, we weep to see</a><br /> +<a href="#p92">Fair maid, had I not heard thy baby cries</a><br /> +<a href="#p94">Fair the face of orient day</a><br /> +<a href="#p74">False though she be to me and love</a><br /> +<a href="#p56">Forty Viziers saw I go</a><br /> +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +<a href="#p33">Gather ye rosebuds while ye may</a><br /> +<a href="#p86">Gentle love, this hour befriend me</a><br /> +<a href="#p83">Gods, what a sun! I think the world's aglow</a><br /> +<a href="#p49">Go little book, and wish to all</a><br /> +<a href="#p65">Go, lovely rose</a><br /> +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +<a href="#p76">Hard is the fate of him who loves</a><br /> +<a href="#p80">Helen, thy beauty is to me</a><br /> +<a href="#p64">Here end my chains, and thraldom cease</a><br /> +<a href="#p51">Her hair, the net of golden wire</a><br /> +<a href="#p16">He that loves a rosy cheek</a><br /> +<a href="#p59">How blest has my time been, what days have I known,</a><br /> +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +<a href="#p82">I asked my fair, one happy day</a><br /> +<a href="#p18">I dare not ask a kiss</a><br /> +<a href="#p25">If the quick spirits in your eye</a><br /> +<a href="#p96">If you become a nun, dear</a><br /> +<a href="#p74">I lately vowed, but 'twas in haste</a><br /> +<a href="#p46">I leant upon a coppice gate</a><br /> +<a href="#p88">I loved her for that she was beautiful</a><br /> +<a href="#p96">"In tea-cup times!" The style of dress</a><br /> +<a href="#p41">I pr'y thee send me back my heart</a><br /> +<a href="#p44">I see her in the dewy flowers</a><br /> +<a href="#p50">I saw, I saw the lovely child</a><br /> +<a href="#p36">I tell you, hopeless grief is passionless</a><br /> +<a href="#p58">It is buried and done with</a><br /> +<a href="#p92">It was not in the winter</a><br /> +<a href="#p63">I will confess with cheerfulness</a><br /> +<a href="#p51">I will make your brooches and toys for your delight</a><br /> +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +<a href="#p17">Jenny kissed me when we met</a><br /> +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +<a href="#p43">Like to the falling of the star</a><br /> +<a href="#p62">Love in thy youth, fair maid, be wise</a><br /> +<a href="#p15">Love guides the roses of thy lips</a><br /> +<a href="#p23">Love not me for comely grace</a><br /> +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +<a href="#p52">Maidens kilt your skirts and go</a><br /> +<a href="#p61">My heart is like a singing bird</a><br /> +<a href="#p64">My little pretty one</a><br /> +<a href="#p19">My Phyllis hath the morning sun</a><br /> +<a href="#p18">My true love hath my heart and I have his</a><br /> +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +<a href="#p75">Name the leaves on all the trees</a><br /> +<a href="#p67">Night and the down by the sea</a><br /> +<a href="#p17">No more blind god! for see, my heart</a><br /> +<a href="#p37">No show of bolts and bars</a><br /> +<a href="#p16">Now fie on foolish love, it not befits</a><br /> +<a href="#p90">Now sleeps the crimson petal, now the white</a><br /> +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +<a href="#p78">O fairest of the rural maids!</a><br /> +<a href="#p87">O mark yon Rose-tree! When the West</a><br /> +<a href="#p44">O, Mistress mine, where are you roaming</a><br /> +<a href="#p85">O, to be in England</a><br /> +<a href="#p39">Oh thou that from the green vales of the West</a><br /> +<a href="#p28">Oh, what a plague is love!</a><br /> +<a href="#p54">On a starr'd night. Prince Lucifer uprose</a><br /> +<a href="#p32">Once did my thoughts both ebb and flow</a><br /> +<a href="#p57">Out upon it, I have loved</a><br /> +<a href="#p26">Over the mountains</a><br /> +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +<a href="#p70">Remember me when I am gone away</a><br /> +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +<a href="#p86">Say, mighty love, and teach my song</a><br /> +<a href="#p15">Send home my long stray'd eyes to me</a><br /> +<a href="#p24">Shall I, wasting in despaire</a><br /> +<a href="#p38">She can be as wise as we</a><br /> +<a href="#p91">She is not fair to outward view</a><br /> +<a href="#p68">She's somewhere in the sunlight strong</a><br /> +<a href="#p34">She was not as pretty as women I know</a><br /> +<a href="#p42">Stone walls do not a prison make</a><br /> +<a href="#p21">Sweet are the thoughts that savour of content</a><br /> +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +<a href="#p47">Tell me not, sweet, I am unkind</a><br /> +<a href="#p94">The air which thy smooth voice doth break</a><br /> +<a href="#p66">The bee to the heather</a><br /> +<a href="#p79">The clouds, which rise with thunder, slake</a><br /> +<a href="#p80">The lark above our heads doth know</a><br /> +<a href="#p67">The lark now leaves his wat'ry nest</a><br /> +<a href="#p54">The Maid I love ne'er thought of me</a><br /> +<a href="#p84">The yellow moon is a dancing phantom</a><br /> +<a href="#p48">The young moon is white</a><br /> +<a href="#p71">There be none of beauty's daughters</a><br /> +<a href="#p98">There is a garden where lilies</a><br /> +<a href="#p36">There is no friend like an old friend</a><br /> +<a href="#p21">Though cruel fate should bid us part</a><br /> +<a href="#p93">Thou hast beauty bright and fair</a><br /> +<a href="#p45">Thrice toss these oaken ashes in the air</a><br /> +<a href="#p30">'Tis not your beauty can engage</a><br /> +<a href="#p70">Traverse not the globe for lore!</a><br /> +<a href="#p37">Trust thou thy Love: if she be proud, is she not sweet?</a><br /> +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +<a href="#p53">Under yonder beech-tree single on the green-sward</a><br /> +<a href="#p31">Unless with my Amanda blest</a><br /> +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +<a href="#p76">Venus whipt Cupid t'other day</a><br /> +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +<a href="#p49">Were the gray clouds not made</a><br /> +<a href="#p38">What care I tho' beauty fading</a><br /> +<a href="#p72">What shall I send my love today</a><br /> +<a href="#p69">When Delia on the plain appears</a><br /> +<a href="#p43">When love, with unconfined wings</a><br /> +<a href="#p73">When you are old and gray and full of sleep</a><br /> +<a href="#p97">Why should not the wattle do?</a><br /> +<a href="#p31">Why so pale and wan, fond lover?</a><br /> +<a href="#p81">Woman's faith, and woman's trust—</a><br /> +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +<a href="#p72">You say I love not, 'cause I do not play</a><br /> +</p> + +<p><br /><br /><br /></p> + +<p><a id="p15"></a></p> + +<p class="t3b"> + A LITTLE BOOK OF OLD TIME VERSE +</p> + +<p><br /><br /><br /></p> + +<h3> +Love's Wantonness<br /> +</h3> + +<p class="poem"> +Love guides the roses of thy lips,<br /> + And flies about them like a bee;<br /> +If I approach he forward skips,<br /> + And if I kiss he stingeth me.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +Love in thine eyes doth build his bower,<br /> + And sleeps within their pretty shrine,<br /> +And if I look the boy will lower,<br /> + And from their orbs shoot shafts divine.<br /> + —<i>Thomas Lodge</i><br /> +</p> + +<p><br /><br /><br /></p> + +<h3> +Song<br /> +</h3> + +<p class="poem"> +Send home my long-stray'd eyes to me,<br /> +Which, O! too long have dwelt on thee:<br /> +But if from you they've learnt such ill,<br /> + To sweetly smile,<br /> + And then beguile,<br /> +Keep the deceivers, keep them still.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +Send home my harmless heart again.<br /> +Which no unworthy thought could stain;<br /> +But if it has been taught by thine<br /> + To forfeit both<br /> + Its word and oath,<br /> +Keep it, for then 'tis none of mine.<br /> + —<i>John Donne, D.D.</i><br /> +</p> + +<p><br /><br /><br /></p> + +<p><a id="p16"></a></p> + +<h3> +Fie on Love<br /> +</h3> + +<p class="poem"> +Now fie on foolish love, it not befits<br /> + Or man or woman know it.<br /> +Love was not meant for people in their wits,<br /> + And they that fondly show it<br /> +Betray the straw, and features in their brain,<br /> +And shall have Bedlam for their pain:<br /> +If simple love be such a curse,<br /> +To marry is to make it ten times worse.<br /> + —<i>Francis Beaumont</i><br /> +</p> + +<p><br /><br /><br /></p> + +<h3> +A Fragment<br /> +</h3> + +<p class="poem"> +He that loves a rosy cheek,<br /> + Or a coral lip admires,<br /> +Or from star-like eyes doth seek<br /> + Fuel to maintain his fires;<br /> +As old Time makes these decay,<br /> +So his flames must waste away.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +But a smooth and steadfast mind,<br /> + Gentle thoughts and calm desires,<br /> +Hearts with equal love combined,<br /> + Kindle never-dying fires;<br /> +Where these are not, I despise<br /> +Lovely cheeks, or lips, or eyes.<br /> + —<i>Thomas Carew</i><br /> +</p> + +<p><br /><br /><br /></p> + +<p><a id="p17"></a></p> + +<h3> +Truce in Love Entreated<br /> +</h3> + +<p class="poem"> +No more, blind god! for see, my heart<br /> + Is made thy quiver, there remains<br /> +No void place, for another dart;<br /> + And, alas! that conquest gains<br /> +Small praise, that only brings away<br /> +A tame and unresisting prey.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +Behold a nobler foe, all arm'd,<br /> + Defies thy weak artillery,<br /> +That hath thy bow and quiver charm'd;<br /> + A rebel beauty, conquering thee:<br /> +If thou dar'st equal combat try,<br /> +Wound her, for 'tis for her I die.<br /> + —<i>Thomas Carew</i><br /> +</p> + +<p><br /><br /><br /></p> + +<h3> +Jenny Kissed Me<br /> +</h3> + +<p class="poem"> +Jenny kiss'd me when we met,<br /> + Jumping from the chair she sat in;<br /> +Time, you thief, who love to get<br /> + Sweets into your list, put that in!<br /> +Say I'm weary, say I'm sad,<br /> + Say that health and wealth have miss'd me,<br /> +Say I'm growing old, but add,<br /> + Jenny kiss'd me.<br /> + —<i>Leigh Hunt</i><br /> +</p> + +<p><br /><br /><br /></p> + +<p><a id="p18"></a></p> + +<h3> +A Ditty<br /> +</h3> + +<p class="poem"> +My true love hath my heart, and I have his,<br /> + By just exchange one for the other given:<br /> +I hold his dear, and mine he cannot miss,<br /> + There never was a better bargain driven:<br /> +My true love hath my heart, and I have his.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +His heart in me, keeps him and me in one,<br /> + My heart in him, his thought and senses guides;<br /> +He loves my heart, for once it was his own,<br /> + I cherish his, because in me it bides:<br /> +My true love hath my heart, and I have his.<br /> + —<i>Sir Phillip Sidney</i><br /> +</p> + +<p><br /><br /><br /></p> + +<h3> +To Electra<br /> +</h3> + +<p class="poem"> +I dare not ask a kiss;<br /> + I dare not beg a smile;<br /> +Lest having that, or this,<br /> + I might grow proud the while.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +No, no, the utmost share<br /> + Of my desire shall be,<br /> +Only to kiss that air<br /> + That lately kissed thee.<br /> + —<i>Robert Herrick</i><br /> +</p> + +<p><br /><br /><br /></p> + +<p><a id="p19"></a></p> + +<h3> +To Phyllis, the Fair Shepherdess<br /> +</h3> + +<p class="poem"> +My Phyllis hath the morning sun<br /> + At first to look upon her:<br /> +And Phyllis hath morn-waking birds<br /> + Her rising still to honour.<br /> +My Phyllis hath prime feathered flowers<br /> + That smile when she treads on them:<br /> +And Phyllis hath a gallant flock<br /> + That leaps since she doth own them.<br /> +But Phyllis hath too hard a heart,<br /> + Alas, that she should have it!<br /> +It yields no mercy to desert<br /> + Nor peace to those that crave it.<br /> +Sweet Sun, when thou look'st on,<br /> + Pray her regard my moan!<br /> +Sweet birds, when you sing to her.<br /> + To yield some pity woo her!<br /> +Sweet flowers, that she treads on,<br /> + Tell her, her beauty dreads one;<br /> +And if in life her love she'll not agree me.<br /> + Pray her before I die, she will come see me.<br /> + —<i>Sir Edward Dyer</i><br /> +</p> + +<p><br /><br /><br /></p> + +<p><a id="p20"></a></p> + +<h3> +The Passionate Shepherd to His Love<br /> +</h3> + +<p class="poem"> +Come live with me and be my love,<br /> +And we will all the pleasures prove<br /> +That valleys, groves, and hills, and fields,<br /> +Woods or steepy mountain yields.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +And we will sit upon the rocks,<br /> +Seeing the shepherds feed their flocks<br /> +By shallow rivers, to whose falls<br /> +Melodious birds sing madrigals.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +And I will make thee beds of roses,<br /> +And a thousand fragrant posies:<br /> +A cap of flowers, and a kirtle,<br /> +Embroider'd all with leaves of myrtle.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +A gown made of the finest wool,<br /> +Which from our pretty lambs we'll pull;<br /> +Fair lined slippers for the cold,<br /> +With buckles of the purest gold.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +A belt of straw and ivy buds,<br /> +With coral clasps and amber studs:<br /> +And if these pleasures may thee move,<br /> +Come live with me and be my love.<br /> +The shepherd swains shall dance and sing<br /> +For thy delight each May morning.<br /> +If these delights thy mind may move,<br /> +Come live with me and be my love.<br /> + —<i>Christopher Marlowe</i><br /> +</p> + +<p><br /><br /><br /></p> + +<p><a id="p21"></a></p> + +<h3> +Content<br /> +</h3> + +<p class="poem"> +Sweet are the thoughts that savour of content,<br /> + The quiet mind is richer than a crown,<br /> +Sweet are the nights in careless slumber spent,<br /> + The poor estate scorns fortune's angry frown;<br /> +Such sweet content, such minds, such sleep, such bliss,<br /> +Beggars enjoy, when princess oft do miss.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +The homely house that harbours quiet rest,<br /> + The cottage that affords no pride nor care,<br /> +The mean that 'grees with country music best,<br /> + The sweet consort of mirth and modest fare,<br /> +Obscured life sets down a type of bliss;<br /> +A mind content both crown and kingdom is.<br /> + —<i>Robert Greene</i><br /> +</p> + +<p><br /><br /><br /></p> + +<h3> +My Jean<br /> +</h3> + +<p class="poem"> +Though cruel fate should bid us part,<br /> + Far as the pole and line,<br /> +Her dear idea round my heart<br /> + Should tenderly entwine.<br /> +Though mountains rise, and deserts howl,<br /> + And oceans roar between;<br /> + Yet, dearer than my deathless soul,<br /> + I still would love my Jean.<br /> + —<i>Robert Burns</i><br /> +</p> + +<p><br /><br /><br /></p> + +<p><a id="p22"></a></p> + +<p class="poem"> +Sweet Love, I will no more abuse thee,<br /> +Nor with my voice accuse thee;<br /> +But tune my notes unto thy praise,<br /> +And tell the world Love ne'er decays.<br /> +Sweet Love doth concord ever cherish:<br /> +What wanteth concord soon must perish.<br /> + —<i>Thomas Walker</i><br /> +</p> + +<p><br /><br /><br /></p> + +<h3> +To Celia<br /> +</h3> + +<p class="poem"> +Drink to me only with thine eyes.<br /> + And I will pledge with mine;<br /> +Or leave a kiss but in the cup,<br /> + And I'll not look for wine.<br /> +The thirst that from the soul doth rise<br /> + Doth ask a drink divine;<br /> +But might I of Jove's nectar sup,<br /> + I would not change for thine.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +I sent thee late a rosy wreath,<br /> + Not so much honouring thee<br /> +As giving it a hope that there<br /> + It could not withered be:<br /> +But thou thereon didst only breathe<br /> + And sent'st it back to me;<br /> +Since when it grows, and smells, I swear,<br /> + Not of itself, but thee!<br /> + —<i>Ben Jonson</i><br /> +</p> + +<p><br /><br /><br /></p> + +<p><a id="p23"></a></p> + + +<p class="poem"> +Love not me for comely grace,<br /> +For my pleasing eye or face,<br /> +Nor for any outward part:<br /> +No, nor for a constant heart!<br /> +For these may fail or turn to ill:<br /> + So thou and I shall sever.<br /> +Keep therefore a true woman's eye,<br /> +And love me still, but know not why!<br /> +So hast thou the same reason still<br /> + To dote upon me ever.<br /> + —<i>John Wilkye</i><br /> +</p> + +<p><br /><br /><br /></p> + +<h3> +To His Mistress<br /> +</h3> + +<p class="poem"> +Choose me your Valentine;<br /> + Next, let us marry;<br /> +Love to the death will pine<br /> + If we long tarry.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +Promise and keep your vows.<br /> + Or vow ye never;<br /> +Love's doctrine disallows<br /> + Troth-breakers ever.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +You have broke promise twice,<br /> + Dear, to undo me;<br /> +If you prove faithless thrice,<br /> + None then will woo ye.<br /> + —<i>Robert Herrick</i><br /> +</p> + +<p><br /><br /><br /></p> + +<p><a id="p24"></a></p> + +<h3> +The Author's Resolution in a Sonnet<br /> +</h3> + +<p class="poem"> +Shall I, wasting in despaire<br /> +Dye, because a woman's fair?<br /> +Or make pale my cheeks with care<br /> +Cause anothers Rosie are?<br /> +Be she fairer than the Day<br /> +Or the flowry Meads in May,<br /> +If she thinke not well of me,<br /> +What care I <i>how</i> faire she be?<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +Shall a woman's Vertues move<br /> +Me to perish for her love?<br /> +Or her well deservings knowne<br /> +Make me quite forget mine own?<br /> +Be she with that Goodness blest<br /> +Which may merit name of best:<br /> +If she be not such to me,<br /> +What care I how good she be?<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +Cause her fortunes seem too high<br /> +Shall I play the fool and die?<br /> +She that bears a Noble mind,<br /> +If not outward helpes she find,<br /> +Think that with them he wold do,<br /> +That without them dares her woe.<br /> +And unlesse that <i>Minde</i> I see<br /> +What care I how great she be?<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +Great, or Good, or Kind, or Faire,<br /> +I will ne're the more despaire:<br /> +If she love me (this believe)<br /> +I will Die ere she shall grieve,<br /> +If she slight me when I woe,<br /> +I can scorne and let her goe,<br /> +For if she be not for me<br /> +What care I for whom she be?<br /> + —<i>George Wither</i><br /> +</p> + +<p><br /><br /><br /></p> + +<p><a id="p25"></a></p> + +<h3> +Song<br /> +</h3> + +<p class="poem"> +If the quick spirits in your eye<br /> +Now languish, and anon must die;<br /> +If ev'ry sweet and ev'ry grace<br /> +Must fly from that forsaken face:<br /> + Then, Celia, let us reap our joys<br /> + Ere time such goodly fruit destroys.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +Or, if that golden fleece must grow<br /> +For ever, free from aged snow;<br /> +If those bright suns must know no shade.<br /> +Nor your fresh beauties ever fade;<br /> +Then fear not, Celia, to bestow<br /> +What still being gathered still must grow.<br /> + Thus, either Time his sickle brings<br /> + In vain, or else in vain his wings.<br /> + —<i>Thomas Carew</i><br /> +</p> + +<p><br /><br /><br /></p> + +<p><a id="p26"></a></p> + +<h3> +Love Will Find the Way<br /> +</h3> + +<p class="poem"> +Over the mountains<br /> + And over the waves,<br /> +Under the fountains<br /> + And under the graves;<br /> +Under the floods that are deepest,<br /> + Which Neptune obey;<br /> +Over the rocks that are steepest,<br /> + Love will find out the way.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +Where there is no place<br /> + For the glow-worm to lie;<br /> +Where there is no space<br /> + For receipt of a fly;<br /> +Where the midge dares not venture,<br /> + Lest herself fast she lay;<br /> +If Love come, he will enter<br /> + And soon find out his way.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +You may esteem him<br /> + A child for his might;<br /> +Or you may deem him<br /> + A coward for his flight;<br /> +But if she whom Love doth honour<br /> + Be concealed from the day,<br /> +Set a thousand guards upon her,<br /> + Love will find out the way.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +Some think to lose him<br /> + By having him confin'd,<br /> +And some do suppose him,<br /> + Poor thing, to be blind;<br /> +But if ne'er so close you wall him,<br /> + Do the best that you may;<br /> +Blind Love, if so ye call him,<br /> + Will find out his way.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +You may train the eagle<br /> + To stoop to your fist;<br /> +Or you may inveigle<br /> + The Phoenix of the East;<br /> +The lioness, you may move her<br /> + To give o'er her prey;<br /> +But you will ne'er stop a lover—<br /> + He will find out his way.<br /> + —<i>Unknown</i><br /> +</p> + +<p><br /><br /><br /></p> + +<p><a id="p27"></a></p> + +<h3> +To Daffodils<br /> +</h3> + +<p class="poem"> +Fair daffodils, we weep to see<br /> + You haste away so soon;<br /> +As yet the early-rising sun<br /> + Has not attained his noon.<br /> + Stay, stay,<br /> + Until the lasting day<br /> + Has run<br /> + But to the evensong<br /> +And, having prayed together, we<br /> + Will go with you along.<br /> + —<i>Robert Herrick</i><br /> +</p> + +<p><br /><br /><br /></p> + +<p><a id="p28"></a></p> + +<h3> +Phillida Flouts Me<br /> +</h3> + +<p class="poem"> +Oh, what a plague is love!<br /> + I cannot bear it.<br /> +She will inconstant prove,<br /> + I greatly fear it;<br /> +It so torments my mind,<br /> + That my heart faileth.<br /> +She wavers with the wind,<br /> + As a ship saileth;<br /> +Please her the best I may,<br /> +She looks another way;<br /> +Alack and well a-day!<br /> + Phillida flouts me.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +I often heard her say<br /> + That she loved posies;<br /> +In the last month of May<br /> + I gave her roses,<br /> +Cowslips and gilly flow'rs<br /> + And the sweet lily,<br /> +I got to deck the bow'rs<br /> + Of my dear Philly;<br /> +She did them all disdain,<br /> +And threw them back again;<br /> +Therefore, 'tis flat and plain<br /> + Phillida flouts me.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +Which way, soe'er I go.<br /> + She still torments me;<br /> +And whatso'er I do,<br /> + Nothing contents me:<br /> +I fade, and pine away<br /> + With grief and sorrow;<br /> +I fall quite to decay,<br /> + Like any shadow;<br /> +Since 'twill no better be,<br /> +I'll bear it patiently;<br /> +Yet all the world may see<br /> + Phillida flouts me.<br /> + —<i>Thomas Carew</i><br /> +</p> + +<p><br /><br /><br /></p> + +<p><a id="p30"></a></p> + +<h3> + Song to Flavia +</h3> + +<p class="poem"> +'Tis not your beauty can engage<br /> +My wary heart:<br /> +The Sun, in all his pride and rage,<br /> +Has not that art;<br /> +And yet he shines as bright as you,<br /> +If brightness could our souls subdue.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +'Tis not the pretty things you say,<br /> +Nor those you write,<br /> +Which can make Thyrsis' heart your prey;<br /> +For that delight,<br /> +The graces of a well-taught mind,<br /> +In some of our own sex we find.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +No, Flavia! 'tis your love I fear;<br /> +Love's surest darts,<br /> +Those which so seldom fail him, are<br /> +Headed with hearts;<br /> +Their very shadows make us yield;<br /> +Dissemble well, and win the field.<br /> + —<i>Edmund Waller</i><br /> +</p> + +<p><br /><br /><br /></p> + +<p><a id="p31"></a></p> + +<p class="poem"> +Why so pale and wan, fond lover?<br /> + Prithee, why so pale?<br /> +Will, when looking well can't move her,<br /> + Looking ill prevail?<br /> + Prithee, why so pale?<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +Why so dull and mute, young sinner?<br /> + Prithee, why so mute?<br /> +Will, when speaking well can't win her,<br /> + Saying nothing do't?<br /> + Prithee, why so mute?<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +Quit, quit, for shame, this will not move:<br /> + This cannot take her.<br /> +If for herself she will not love,<br /> + Nothing can make her:<br /> + The devil take her!<br /> + —<i>Sir John Suckling</i><br /> +</p> + +<p><br /><br /><br /></p> + +<p class="poem"> +Unless with my Amanda blest,<br /> + In vain I twine the woodbine bower;<br /> +Unless to deck her sweeter breast,<br /> + In vain I rear the breathing flower:<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +Awaken'd by the genial year,<br /> + In vain the birds around me sing;<br /> +In vain the freshening fields appear:<br /> + <i>Without my love there is no Spring</i>.<br /> + —<i>James Thomson</i><br /> +</p> + +<p><br /><br /><br /></p> + +<p><a id="p32"></a></p> + +<p class="poem"> +Once did my thoughts both ebb and flow,<br /> + As passion did them move,<br /> +Once did I hope, straight fear again,—<br /> + And then I was in love.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +Once did I waking spend the night,<br /> + And tell how many minutes move,<br /> +Once did I wishing waste the day,—<br /> + And then I was in love.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +Once, by my carving true love's knot,<br /> + The weeping trees did prove<br /> +That wounds and tears were both our lot,—<br /> + And then I was in love.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +Once did I breathe another's breath,<br /> + And in my mistress move,<br /> +Once was I not mine own at all,—<br /> + And then I was in love.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +Once wore I bracelets made of hair,<br /> + And collars did approve,<br /> +Once wore my clothes made out of wax,—<br /> + And then I was in love.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +Once did I sonnet to my saint,<br /> + My soul in numbers move,<br /> +Once did I tell a thousand lies,—<br /> + And then I was in love.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +Once in my ear did dangling hang<br /> + A little turtle-dove,<br /> +Once, in a word, I was a fool,—<br /> + And then I was in love.<br /> + —<i>Robert Jones</i><br /> +</p> + +<p><br /><br /><br /></p> + +<p><a id="p33"></a></p> + +<h3> +To the Virgins, to Make Much of Time<br /> +</h3> + +<p class="poem"> +Gather ye rosebuds while ye may,<br /> + Old time is still a-flying:<br /> +And this same flower that smiles today<br /> + Tomorrow will be dying.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +The glorious lamp of heaven, the Sun,<br /> + The higher he's a-getting,<br /> +The sooner will his race be run,<br /> + And nearer he's to setting.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +That age is best which is the first,<br /> + When youth and blood are warmer;<br /> +But being spent, the worse, and worst<br /> + Times still succeed the former.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +Then be not coy, but use your time.<br /> + And while ye may go marry:<br /> +For having lost but once your prime<br /> + You may forever tarry.<br /> + —<i>Robert Herrick</i><br /> +</p> + +<p><br /><br /><br /></p> + +<p><a id="p34"></a></p> + +<h3> +My Kate<br /> +</h3> + +<p class="poem"> +She was not as pretty as women I know,<br /> +And yet all your best made of sunshine and snow<br /> +Drop to shade, melt to naught in the long-trodden ways,<br /> +While she's still remember'd on warm and cold days—<br /> + My Kate.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +Her air had a meaning, her movements a grace;<br /> +You turn'd from the fairest to gaze on her face:<br /> +And when you had once seen her forehead and mouth,<br /> +You saw as distinctly her soul and her truth—<br /> + My Kate.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +Such a blue inner light from her eyelids outbroke,<br /> +You look'd at her silence and fancied she spoke:<br /> +When she did, so peculiar yet soft was the tone,<br /> +Tho' the loudest spoke also, you heard her alone—<br /> + My Kate.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +I doubt if she said to you much that could act<br /> +As a thought or suggestion: she did not attract<br /> +In the sense of the brilliant or wise: I infer<br /> +Twas her thinking of others, made you think of her—<br /> + My Kate.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +She never found fault with you, never implied<br /> +Your wrong by her right; and yet men at her side<br /> +Grew nobler, girls purer, as thro' the whole town<br /> +The children were gladder that pull'd at her gown—<br /> + My Kate.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +None knelt at her feet confess'd lovers in thrall;<br /> +They knelt more to God than they used,—that was all:<br /> +If you praised her as charming, some ask'd what you meant.<br /> +But the charm of her presence was felt when she went—<br /> + My Kate.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +The weak and the gentle, the ribald and rude,<br /> +She took as she found them, and did them all good;<br /> +It always was so with her—see what you have!<br /> +She has made the grass greener even here with her grave—<br /> + My Kate.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +My dear one!—When thou wast alive with the rest,<br /> +I held thee the sweetest and loved thee the best:<br /> +And now thou art dead, shall I not take thy part<br /> +As thy smiles used to do for thyself, my sweet Heart—<br /> + My Kate?<br /> + —<i>Elizabeth Barrett Browning</i><br /> +</p> + +<p><br /><br /><br /></p> + +<p><a id="p36"></a></p> + +<p class="poem"> +There is no friend like an old friend<br /> +Who has shared our morning days,<br /> +No greeting like his welcome,<br /> +No homage like his praise.<br /> +Fame is the scentless sunflower,<br /> +With gaudy crown of gold;<br /> +But friendship is the breathing rose<br /> +With sweets in every fold.<br /> + —<i>Oliver Wendell Holmes</i><br /> +</p> + +<p><br /><br /><br /></p> + +<h3> +Grief<br /> +</h3> + +<p class="poem"> +I tell you, hopeless grief is passionless;<br /> +That only men incredulous of despair,<br /> + Half taught in anguish, through the midnight air<br /> +Beat upward to God's throne in loud excess<br /> +Of shrieking and reproach. Full desertness<br /> + In soul as countries lieth silent-bare<br /> + Under the blanching, vertical eye-glare<br /> +Of the absolute Heavens. Deep-hearted man, express<br /> +Grief for thy Dead in silence like to death—<br /> + Most like a monumental statue set<br /> +In everlasting watch and moveless woe<br /> +Till itself crumble to the dust beneath.<br /> + Touch it; the marble eyelids are not wet:<br /> +If it could weep, it could arise and go.<br /> + —<i>Elizabeth Barrett Browning</i><br /> +</p> + +<p><br /><br /><br /></p> + +<p><a id="p37"></a></p> + +<h3> +Love<br /> +</h3> + +<p class="poem"> +<i>Totus est Inermis Idem</i>...<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +No show of bolts and bars<br /> +Can keep the foeman out,<br /> +Or 'scape his secret mine<br /> +Who enter'd with the doubt<br /> +That drew the line.<br /> +No warder at the gate<br /> +Can let the friendly in;<br /> +But, like the sun, o'er all<br /> +He will the castle win,<br /> +And shine along the wall.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +Implacable is Love—<br /> +Foes may be bought or teased<br /> +From their hostile intent,<br /> +But he goes unappeased<br /> +Who is on kindness bent.<br /> + —<i>Henry David Thoreau</i><br /> +</p> + +<p><br /><br /><br /></p> + +<h3> +Trust Thou Thy Love<br /> +</h3> + +<p class="poem"> +Trust thou thy Love: if she be proud, is she not sweet?<br /> +Trust thou thy Love: if she be mute, is she not pure?<br /> +Lay thou thy soul full in her hands, low at her feet;<br /> +Fail, Sun and Breath!—yet, for thy peace, She shall endure.<br /> + —<i>John Ruskin</i><br /> +</p> + +<p><br /><br /><br /></p> + +<p><a id="p38"></a></p> + +<h3> +Spiritual Love<br /> +</h3> + +<p class="poem"> +What care I tho' beauty fading<br /> +Die ere Time can turn his glass?<br /> +What tho' locks the Graces braiding<br /> + Perish like the summer grass?<br /> +Tho' thy charms should all decay,<br /> +Think not my affections may!<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +For thy charms—tho' bright as morning—<br /> +Captured not my idle heart;<br /> +Love so grounded ends in scorning,<br /> + Lacks the barb to hold the dart.<br /> +My devotion more secure<br /> +Woos thy spirit high and pure.<br /> + —<i>William Caldwell Roscoe</i><br /> +</p> + +<p><br /><br /><br /></p> + +<h3> +Woman<br /> +</h3> + +<p class="poem"> +She can be as wise as we<br /> + And wiser when she wishes;<br /> +She can knit with cunning wit,<br /> + And dress the homely dishes,<br /> +She can flourish staff or pen,<br /> + And deal a wound that lingers;<br /> +She can talk the talk of men,<br /> + And touch with thrilling fingers.<br /> + —<i>George Meredith</i><br /> +</p> + +<p><br /><br /><br /></p> + +<p><a id="p39"></a></p> + +<h3> +To Spring: On the Banks of the Cam<br /> +</h3> + +<p class="poem"> +O Thou that from the green vales of the West<br /> +Com'st in thy tender robes with bashful feet,<br /> +And to the gathering clouds<br /> +Liftest thy soft blue eye:<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +I woo thee. Spring!—Tho' thy dishevell'd hair<br /> +In misty ringlets sweep thy snowy breast,<br /> +And thy young lips deplore<br /> +Stern Boreas' ruthless rage:<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +While morn is stee'd in dews, and the dank show'r<br /> +Drops from the green boughs of the budding trees;<br /> +And the thrush tunes his song<br /> +Warbling with unripe throat:<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +Thro' the deep wood where spreads the sylvan oak<br /> +I follow thee, and see thy hands unfold<br /> +The love-sick primrose pale<br /> +And moist-eyed violet:<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +While in the central grove, at thy soft voice,<br /> +The Dryads start forth from their wintry cells,<br /> +And from their oozy waves<br /> +The Naiads lift their heads<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +In sedgy bonnets trimm'd with rushy leaves<br /> +And water-blossoms from the forest stream,<br /> +To pay their vows to thee,<br /> +Their thrice adored queen!<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +The stripling shepherd wand'ring thro' the wood<br /> +Startles the linnet from her downy nest,<br /> +Or wreathes his crook with flowers,<br /> +The sweetest of the fields.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +From the grey branches of the ivied ash<br /> +The stock-dove pours her vernal elegy,<br /> +While further down the vale<br /> +Echoes the cuckoo's note.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +Beneath this trellis'd arbour's antique roof,<br /> +When the wild laurel rustles in the breeze,<br /> +By Cam's slow murmuring stream<br /> +I waste the live-long day;<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +And bid thee. Spring, rule fair the infant year,<br /> +Till my loved Maid in russet stole approach:<br /> +O yield her to my arms,<br /> +Her red lips breathing love!<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +So shall the sweet May drink thy falling tears,<br /> +And on thy blue eyes pour a beam of joy;<br /> +And float thy azure locks<br /> +Upon the western wind.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +So shall the nightingale rejoice thy woods,<br /> +And Hesper early light his dewy star;<br /> +And oft at eventide<br /> +Beneath the rising moon.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +May lovers' whispers soothe thy list'ning ear,<br /> +And as they steal the soft impassion'd kiss,<br /> +Confess thy genial reign,<br /> +O love-inspiring Spring!<br /> + —<i>William Stanley Roscoe</i><br /> +</p> + +<p><br /><br /><br /></p> + +<p><a id="p41"></a></p> + +<p class="poem"> +I pr'y thee send me back my heart,<br /> + Since I cannot have thine;<br /> +For if from yours you will not part,<br /> + Why then shouldst thou have mine?<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +Yet now I think on't, let it lie;<br /> + To find it were in vain,<br /> +For thou'st a thief in either eye<br /> + Would steal it back again.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +Why should two hearts in one breast lie,<br /> + And yet not lodge together?<br /> +O love! where is thy sympathy,<br /> + If thus our breasts you sever?<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +But love is such a mystery<br /> + I cannot find it out;<br /> +For when I think I'm best resolved,<br /> + I then am most in doubt.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +Then farewell love, and farewell woe,<br /> + I will no longer pine;<br /> +For I'll believe I have her heart<br /> + As much as she hath mine.<br /> + —<i>Sir John Suckling</i><br /> +</p> + +<p><br /><br /><br /></p> + +<p><a id="p42"></a></p> + +<p class="poem"> +Stone walls do not a prison make,<br /> + Nor iron bars a cage;<br /> +Minds innocent and quiet take<br /> + That for an hermitage,<br /> +If I have freedom in my love,<br /> + And in my soul am free,—<br /> +Angels alone, that soar above,<br /> + Enjoy such liberty.<br /> + —<i>Richard Lovelace</i><br /> +</p> + +<p><br /><br /><br /></p> + +<h3> +Appelles' Song<br /> +</h3> + +<p class="poem"> +Cupid and my Campaspe played<br /> +At cards for kisses,—Cupid paid;<br /> +He stakes his quiver, bow and arrows,<br /> +His mother's doves, and teams of sparrows:<br /> +Loses them, too; then down he throws<br /> +The coral of his lip, the rose<br /> +Growing on's cheek (but none knows how);<br /> +With these the crystal of his brow,<br /> +And then the dimple of his chin:<br /> +All these did my Campaspe win.<br /> +At last he set her both his eyes;<br /> +She won, and Cupid blind did rise;<br /> +O Love, has she done this to thee?<br /> +What shall, alas! become of me?<br /> + —<i>John Lyly</i><br /> +</p> + +<p><br /><br /><br /></p> + +<p><a id="p43"></a></p> + +<h3> +To Althea, from Prison<br /> +</h3> + +<p class="poem"> +When love, with unconfined wings,<br /> + Hovers within my gates,<br /> +And my divine Althea brings<br /> + To whisper at the grates;<br /> +When I lie tangled in her hair,<br /> + And fetter'd to her eye—<br /> +The birds that wanton in the air,<br /> + Know no such liberty.<br /> + —<i>Richard Lovelace</i><br /> +</p> + +<p><br /><br /><br /></p> + +<h3> +On the Life of Man<br /> +</h3> + +<p class="poem"> +Like to the falling of a star,<br /> +Or as the flights of eagles are,<br /> +Or like the fresh Spring's gaudy hue,<br /> +Or silver drops of morning dew,<br /> +Or like the wind that chafes the flood,<br /> +Or bubbles which on water stood;<br /> +Even such is man, whose borrowed light<br /> +Is straight called in and paid tonight<br /> +The wind blows out, the bubble dies,<br /> +The spring entombed in autumn lies,<br /> +The dew's dried up, the star is shot,<br /> +The flight is past, and man forgot.<br /> + —<i>Henry King</i><br /> +</p> + +<p><br /><br /><br /></p> + +<p><a id="p44"></a></p> + +<h3> +Of A' the Airts the Wind Can Blaw<br /> +</h3> + +<p class="poem"> +I see her in the dewy flowers,<br /> + I see her sweet and fair:<br /> +I hear her in the tunefu' birds,<br /> + I hear her charm the air:<br /> +There's not a bonnie flower that springs<br /> + By fountain, shaw, or green,<br /> +There's not a bonnie bird that sings,<br /> + But minds me o' my Jean.<br /> + —<i>Robert Burns</i><br /> +</p> + +<p><br /><br /><br /></p> + +<h3> +O Mistress Mine, Where Are You Roaming?<br /> +</h3> + +<p class="poem"> +O Mistress mine, where are you roaming?<br /> +O, stay and hear; your true love's coming,<br /> + That can sing both high and low:<br /> +Trip no further, pretty sweeting;<br /> +Journeys end in Lovers' meeting,<br /> + Every wise man's son doth know.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +What is love? 'Tis not hereafter:<br /> +Present mirth hath present laughter;<br /> + What's to come is still unsure:<br /> +In delay there lies no plenty;<br /> +Then come kiss me, sweet and twenty<br /> + Youth's a stuff will not endure.<br /> + —<i>Shakespeare</i><br /> +</p> + +<p><br /><br /><br /></p> + +<p><a id="p45"></a></p> + +<p class="poem"> +Thrice toss these oaken ashes in the air,<br /> +Thrice sit thou mute in this enchanted chair,<br /> +Then thrice three times tie up this true love's knot,<br /> +And murmur soft, "She will or she will not."<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +Go, burn these poisonous weeds in yon blue fire,<br /> +These screech owls' feathers and this prickling briar,<br /> +This cypress gathered at a dead man's grave,<br /> +That all my fears and cares an end may have.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +Then come, you Fairies! dance with me a round!<br /> +Melt her hard heart with your melodious sound!<br /> +In vain are all the charms I can devise:<br /> +She hath an art to break them with her eyes.<br /> + —<i>Thomas Campion</i><br /> +</p> + +<p><br /><br /><br /></p> + +<p class="poem"> +Come, O come, my life's delight!<br /> + Let me not in languor pine!<br /> +Love loves no delay; thy sight<br /> + The more enjoyed, the more divine!<br /> +O come, and take from me<br /> +The pain of being deprived of thee!<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +Thou all sweetness dost enclose,<br /> + Like a little world of bliss;<br /> +Beauty guards thy looks, the rose<br /> + In them pure and eternal is:<br /> +Come, then, and make thy flight<br /> +As swift to me as heavenly light!<br /> + —<i>Thomas Campion</i><br /> +</p> + +<p><br /><br /><br /></p> + +<p><a id="p46"></a></p> + +<h3> +The Darkling Thrush<br /> +</h3> + +<p class="poem"> +I leant upon a coppice gate<br /> + When Frost was spectre-gray,<br /> +And Winter's dregs made desolate<br /> + The weakening eye of day.<br /> +The tangled vine-stems scored the sky<br /> + Like strings of broken lyres,<br /> +And all mankind that haunted nigh<br /> + Had sought their household fires.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +The land's sharp features seem'd to be<br /> + The Century's corpse outleant,<br /> +His crypt the cloudy canopy,<br /> + The wind his death-lament.<br /> +The ancient pulse of germ and birth<br /> + Was shrunken hard and dry,<br /> +And every spirit upon earth<br /> + Seem'd fervourless as I.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +At once a voice arose among<br /> + The bleak twigs overhead<br /> +In a full-hearted evensong<br /> + Of joy illimited;<br /> +An aged thrush, frail, quant, and small,<br /> + In blast-beruffled plume.<br /> +Had chosen thus to fling his soul<br /> + Upon the growing gloom.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +So little cause for carollings<br /> + Of such ecstatic sound<br /> +Was written on terrestrial things<br /> + Afar or nigh around,<br /> +That I could think there trembled through<br /> + His happy good-night air<br /> +Some blessed Hope, whereof he knew<br /> + And I was unaware.<br /> + —<i>Thomas Hardy</i><br /> +</p> + +<p><br /><br /><br /></p> + +<p><a id="p47"></a></p> + +<h3> +To Lucasta, on Going to the Wars<br /> +</h3> + +<p class="poem"> +Tell me not, sweet, I am unkind,<br /> + That from the nunnery<br /> +Of your chaste breast and quiet mind<br /> + To war and arms I fly.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +True, a new mistress now I chase,<br /> + The first foe in the field;<br /> +And with a stronger faith embrace<br /> + A sword, a horse, a shield.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +Yet this inconstancy is such<br /> + As you too shall adore;<br /> +I could not love thee, dear, so much<br /> + Loved I not honour more!<br /> + —<i>Richard Lovelace</i><br /> +</p> + +<p><br /><br /><br /></p> + +<p><a id="p48"></a></p> + +<h3> +A Japanese Love Song<br /> +</h3> + +<p class="poem"> +The young moon is white,<br /> + But the willows are blue:<br /> +Your small lips are red,<br /> + But the great clouds are gray:<br /> +The waves are so many<br /> + That whisper to you;<br /> +But my love is only<br /> + One flight of spray.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +The bright drops are many,<br /> + The dark wave is one:<br /> +The dark wave subsides,<br /> + And the bright sea remains!<br /> +And wherever, O singing<br /> + Maid, you may run,<br /> +You are one with the world<br /> + For all your pains.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +Tho' the great skies are dark,<br /> + And your small feet are white,<br /> +Tho' your wide eyes are blue<br /> + And the closed poppies red,<br /> +Tho' the kisses are many,<br /> + That colour the night,<br /> +They are linked like pearls<br /> + On one golden thread.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +Were the gray clouds not made<br /> + For the red of your mouth;<br /> +The ages for flight<br /> + Of the butterfly years;<br /> +The sweet of the peach<br /> + For the pale lips of drouth,<br /> +The sunlight of smiles<br /> + For the shadow of tears?<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +Love, Love is the thread<br /> + That has pierced them with bliss!<br /> +All their hues are but notes<br /> + In one world-wide tune:<br /> +Lips, willows and waves,<br /> + We are one as we kiss,<br /> +And your face and the flowers<br /> + Faint away in the moon.<br /> + —<i>Alfred Noyes</i><br /> +</p> + +<p><br /><br /><br /></p> + +<p><a id="p49"></a></p> + +<h3> +Wishes<br /> +</h3> + +<p class="poem"> +Go, little book, and wish to all<br /> +Flowers in the garden, meat in the hall,<br /> +A bin of wine, a spice of wit,<br /> +A house with lawns enclosing it,<br /> +A living river by the door,<br /> +A nightingale in the sycamore.<br /> + —<i>Robert Louis Stevenson</i><br /> +</p> + +<p><br /><br /><br /></p> + +<p><a id="p50"></a></p> + +<h3> + Evanescence +</h3> + +<p class="poem"> +I saw, I saw the lovely child<br /> + I watch'd her by the way,<br /> +I learnt her gestures sweet and wild<br /> + Her loving eyes and gay.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +Her name?—I heard not, nay, nor care;<br /> + Enough it was for me<br /> +To find her innocently fair<br /> + And delicately free.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +O cease and go ere dreams be done,<br /> + Nor trace the angel's birth,<br /> +Nor find the Paradisal one<br /> + A blossom of the earth!<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +Thus is it with our subtlest joys,—<br /> + How quick the soul's alarm!<br /> +How lightly deed or word destroys<br /> + That evanescent charm!<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +It comes unbidden, comes unbought,<br /> + Unfetter'd flees away;<br /> +His swiftest and his sweetest thought<br /> + Can never poet say.<br /> + —<i>Frederic William Henry Myers</i><br /> +</p> + +<p><br /><br /><br /></p> + +<p><a id="p51"></a></p> + +<h3> +Romance<br /> +</h3> + +<p class="poem"> +I will make you brooches and toys for your delight<br /> +Of bird-song at morning and star-shine at night.<br /> +I will make a palace fit for you and me,<br /> +Of green days in forests and blue days at sea.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +I will make my kitchen, and you shall keep your room,<br /> +Where white flows the river and bright blows the broom,<br /> +And you shall wash your linen and keep your body white<br /> +In rainfall at morning and dewfall at night.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +And this shall be for music when no one else is near,<br /> +The fine song for singing, the rare song to hear!<br /> +That only I remember, that only you admire,<br /> +Of the broad road that stretches and the roadside fire.<br /> + —<i>Robert Louis Stevenson</i><br /> +</p> + +<p><br /><br /><br /></p> + +<p class="poem"> +Her hair the net of golden wire,<br /> + Wherein my heart, led by my wandering eyes,<br /> +So fast entangled is that in no wise<br /> + It can, nor will, again retire;<br /> +But rather will in that sweet bondage die<br /> +Than break one hair to gain her liberty.<br /> + —<i>Thomas Bateson</i><br /> +</p> + +<p><br /><br /><br /></p> + +<p><a id="p52"></a></p> + +<h3> +Celia's Homecoming<br /> +</h3> + +<p class="poem"> +Maidens kilt your skirts and go<br /> + Down the stormy garden-ways.<br /> +Pluck the last sweet pinks that blow,<br /> + Gather roses, gather bays,<br /> +Since our Celia comes to-day,<br /> +That has been so long away.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +Crowd her chamber with your sweets—<br /> + Not a flower but grows for her!<br /> +Make her bed with linen sheets<br /> + That have lain in lavender:<br /> +Light a fire before she come,<br /> +Lest she find us chill at home.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +Ah, what joy when Celia stands<br /> + By the leaping blaze at last,<br /> +Stooping low to warm her hands<br /> + All benumbed with the blast,<br /> +While we hide her cloak away,<br /> +To assure us she shall stay!<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +Cyder bring and cowslip wine,<br /> + Fruits and flavours from the East,<br /> +Pears and pippins too, and fine<br /> + Saffron loaves to make a feast;<br /> +China dishes, silver cups,<br /> +For the board where Celia sups!<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +Then, when all the feasting's done,<br /> + She shall draw us round the blaze,<br /> +Laugh, and tell us every one<br /> + Of her far triumphant days—<br /> +Celia, out of doors a star,<br /> +By the hearth a holier Lar!<br /> + —<i>Agnes Mary Frances Dudaux</i><br /> +</p> + +<p><br /><br /><br /></p> + +<p><a id="p53"></a></p> + +<h3> +Love in the Valley<br /> +</h3> + +<p class="poem"> +Under yonder beech-tree single on the green-sward,<br /> + Couch'd with her arms behind her golden head,<br /> +Knees and tresses folded to slip and ripple idly,<br /> + Lies my young love sleeping in the shade.<br /> +Had I the heart to slide an arm beneath her,<br /> + Press her parting lips as her waist I gather slow,<br /> +Waking in amazement she could not but embrace me:<br /> + Then would she hold me and never let me go?<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +Shy as the squirrel and wayward as the swallow,<br /> + Swift as the swallow along the river's light<br /> +Circleting the surface to meet his mirror'd winglets,<br /> + Fleeter she seems in her stay than in her flight.<br /> +Shy as the squirrel that leaps among the pine-tops,<br /> + Wayward as the swallow overhead at set of sun,<br /> +She whom I love is hard to catch and conquer,<br /> + Hard, but O the glory of the winning were she won!<br /> + —<i>George Meredith</i><br /> +</p> + +<p><br /><br /><br /></p> + +<p><a id="p54"></a></p> + +<h3> +Lucifer in Starlight<br /> +</h3> + +<p class="poem"> +On a starr'd night Prince Lucifer uprose.<br /> + Tired of his dark dominion swung the fiend<br /> + Above the rolling ball in cloud part screen'd,<br /> +Where sinners hugg'd their sceptre of repose.<br /> +Poor prey to his hot fit of pride were those.<br /> + And now upon his western wing he lean'd,<br /> + Now his huge bulk o'er Afric's sands careen'd,<br /> +Now the black planet shadow'd Arctic snows.<br /> +Soaring through wider zones that prick'd his scars<br /> + With memory of the old revolt from Awe,<br /> +He reach'd a middle height, and at the stars,<br /> +Which are the brain of heaven, he look'd, and sank<br /> +Around the ancient track march'd, rank on rank,<br /> + The army of unalterable law.<br /> + —<i>George Meredith</i><br /> +</p> + +<p><br /><br /><br /></p> + +<p class="poem"> +The maid I love ne'er thought of me<br /> +Amid the scenes of gaiety;<br /> +But when her heart or mine sank low,<br /> +Ah, then it was no longer so!<br /> +From the slant palm she rais'd her head,<br /> +And kiss'd the cheek whence youth had fled.<br /> +Angels! some future day for this,<br /> +Give her as sweet and pure a kiss.<br /> + —<i>Walter Savage Landor</i><br /> +</p> + +<p><br /><br /><br /></p> + +<p><a id="p55"></a></p> + +<h3> +To Anthea<br /> +</h3> + +<p class="poem"> +Bid me to live, and I will live<br /> + Thy Protestant to be;<br /> +Or bid me love, and I will give<br /> + A loving heart to thee.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +A heart as soft, a heart as kind,<br /> + A heart as sound and free<br /> +As in the whole world thou shalt find,<br /> + That heart I'll give to thee.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +Bid that heart stay, and it will stay<br /> + To honour thy decree;<br /> +Or bid it languish quite away,<br /> + And it shalt do so for thee.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +Bid me to weep, and I will weep,<br /> + While I have eyes to see;<br /> +And having none, yet I will keep<br /> + A heart to weep for thee.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +Thou art my life, my love, my heart<br /> + The very eyes of me;<br /> +And hast command of every part,<br /> + To live and die for thee.<br /> + —<i>Robert Herrick</i><br /> +</p> + +<p><br /><br /><br /></p> + +<p><a id="p56"></a></p> + +<h3> +The Fair Circassian<br /> +</h3> + +<p class="poem"> +Forty Viziers saw I go<br /> +Up to the Seraglio,<br /> +Burning, each and every man,<br /> +For the fair Circassian.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +Ere the morn had disappear'd,<br /> +Every Vizier wore a beard;<br /> +Ere the afternoon was born<br /> +Every Vizier came back shorn.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +'Let the man that woos to win<br /> +Woo with an unhairy chin:'<br /> +Thus she said, and as she bid<br /> +Each devoted Vizier did.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +From the beards a cord she made,<br /> +Loop'd it to the balustrade,<br /> +Glided down and went away<br /> +To her own Circassia.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +When the Sultan heard, wax'd he<br /> +Somewhat wroth, and presently<br /> +In the noose themselves did lend<br /> +Every Vizier did suspend.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +Sages all, this rhyme who read,<br /> +Of your beards take prudent heed,<br /> +And beware the wily plans<br /> +Of the fair Circassians.<br /> + —<i>Richard Garnett</i><br /> +</p> + +<p><br /><br /><br /></p> + +<p><a id="p57"></a></p> + +<h3> +The Constant Lover<br /> +</h3> + +<p class="poem"> +Out upon it, I have loved<br /> + Three whole days together;<br /> +And am like to love three more,<br /> + If it prove fair weather.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +Time shall moult away his wings<br /> + Ere he shall discover<br /> +In the whole wide world again<br /> + Such a constant lover.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +But the spite on't is, no praise<br /> + Is due at all to me:<br /> +Love with me had made no stays<br /> + Had it any been but she.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +Had it any been but she,<br /> + And that very face,<br /> +There had been at least ere this<br /> + A dozen dozen in her place.<br /> + —<i>John Suckling</i><br /> +</p> + +<p><br /><br /><br /></p> + +<p><a id="p58"></a></p> + +<h3> +Farewell<br /> +</h3> + +<p class="poem"> +It is buried and done with,<br /> + The love that we knew:<br /> +Those cobwebs we spun with<br /> + Are beaded with dew.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +I loved thee; I leave thee:<br /> + To love thee was pain:<br /> +I dare not believe thee<br /> + To love thee again.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +Like spectres unshriven<br /> + Are the years that I lost;<br /> +To thee they were given<br /> + Without count of cost.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +I cannot revive them<br /> + By penance or prayer;<br /> +Hell's tempest must drive them<br /> + Thro' turbulent air.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +Farewell, and forget me;<br /> + For I, too, am free<br /> +From the shame that beset me,<br /> + The sorrow of thee.<br /> + —<i>John Addington Symonds</i><br /> +</p> + +<p><br /><br /><br /></p> + +<p><a id="p59"></a></p> + +<h3> +Song<br /> +</h3> + +<p class="poem"> +How blest has my time been, what days have I known,<br /> +Since wedlock's soft bondage made Jessie my own!<br /> +So joyful my heart is, so easy my chain,<br /> +That freedom is tasteless and roving a pain.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +Through walks, grown with woodbines, as often we stray,<br /> +Around us our girls and boys frolic and play,<br /> +How pleasing their sport is, the wanton ones see,<br /> +And borrow their looks from my Jessie and me.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +To try her sweet temper sometimes am I seen<br /> +In revels all day with the nymphs of the green;<br /> +Though painful my absence, my doubts she beguiles,<br /> +And meets me at night with compliance and smiles.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +What though on her cheek the rose loses its hue,<br /> +Her ease and good humour bloom all the year through,<br /> +Time still, as he flies, brings increase to her truth,<br /> +And gives to her mind what he steals from her youth.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +Ye shepherds so gay, who make love to ensnare,<br /> +And cheat with false vows the too credulous fair,<br /> +In search of true pleasure how vainly you roam,<br /> +To hold it for life, you must find it at home.<br /> + —<i>Edward Moore</i><br /> +</p> + +<p><br /><br /><br /></p> + +<p><a id="p60"></a></p> + +<h3> + On a Fan that Belonged to the<br /> +Marquise de Pompadour +</h3> + +<p class="poem"> +Chicken-skin, delicate, white,<br /> + Painted by Carlo Vanloo,<br /> +Loves in a riot of light,<br /> + Roses and vaporous blue;<br /> + Hark to the dainty frou-frou!<br /> +Picture above if you can,<br /> + Eyes that could melt as the dew—<br /> +This was the Pompadour's fan!<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +See how they rise at the sight,<br /> + Thronging the OEil de Boeuf through,<br /> +Courtiers as butterflies bright,<br /> + Beauties that Fragonard drew,<br /> +Talon-rouge, falbala, queue,<br /> + Cardinal, Duke,—to a man,<br /> + Eager to sigh or to sue,—<br /> +This was the Pompadour's fan!<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +Ah! but things more than polite<br /> + Hung on this toy, voyez vous!<br /> +Matters of state and of might,<br /> + Things that great ministers do;<br /> + Things that, maybe, overthrew<br /> +Those in whose brains they began;<br /> + Here was the sign and the cue,—<br /> +This was the Pompadour's fan!<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /></p> + +<p class="poem"> +<i>Envoy</i>.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +Where are the secrets it knew?<br /> + Weavings of plot and of plan?<br /> +—But where is the Pompadour, too?<br /> + This was the Pompadour's Fan!<br /> + —<i>Austin Dobson</i><br /> +</p> + +<p><br /><br /><br /></p> + +<p><a id="p61"></a></p> + +<h3> +A Birthday<br /> +</h3> + +<p class="poem"> +My heart is like a singing bird<br /> + Whose nest is in a water'd shoot;<br /> +My heart is like an apple-tree<br /> + Whose boughs are bent with thick-set fruit;<br /> +My heart is like a rainbow shell<br /> + That paddles in a halcyon sea;<br /> +My heart is gladder than all these,<br /> + Because my love is come to me.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +Raise me a dais of silk and down;<br /> + Hang it with vair and purple dyes;<br /> +Carve it in doves and pomegranates,<br /> + And peacocks with a hundred eyes;<br /> +Work it in gold and silver grapes,<br /> + In leaves and silver fleurs-de-lys;<br /> +Because the birthday of my life<br /> + Is come, my love is come to me.<br /> + —<i>Christina Georgina Rossetti</i><br /> +</p> + +<p><br /><br /><br /></p> + +<p><a id="p62"></a></p> + +<h3> +"Love in thy Youth, Fair Maid"<br /> +</h3> + +<p class="poem"> +Love in thy youth, fair maid, be wise,<br /> + Old Time will make thee colder,<br /> +And though each morning new arise<br /> + Yet we each day grow older.<br /> +Thou as heaven art fair and young,<br /> + Thine eyes like twin stars shining:<br /> +But ere another day be sprung,<br /> + All these will be declining;<br /> +Then winter comes with all his fears,<br /> + And all thy sweets shall borrow;<br /> +Too late then wilt thou shower thy tears,<br /> + And I, too late, shall sorrow.<br /> + —<i>Walter Porter</i><br /> +</p> + +<p><br /><br /><br /></p> + +<h3> +Days<br /> +</h3> + +<p class="poem"> +Daughters of Time, the hypocritic Days,<br /> +Muffled and dumb like barefoot dervishes<br /> +And marching single in an endless file,<br /> +Bring diadems and faggots in their hands.<br /> +To each they offer gifts after his will—<br /> +Bread, kingdoms, stars, and sky that holds them all.<br /> +I, in my pleached garden, watch'd the pomp,<br /> +Forgot my morning wishes, hastily<br /> +Took a few herbs and apples, and the Day<br /> +Turn'd and departed silent. I, too late,<br /> +Under her solemn fillet saw the scorn.<br /> + —<i>Ralph Waldo Emerson</i><br /> +</p> + +<p><br /><br /><br /></p> + +<p><a id="p63"></a></p> + +<h3> +A Hymn to Love<br /> +</h3> + +<p class="poem"> + I will confess<br /> + With cheerfulness,<br /> +Love is a thing so likes me,<br /> + That let her lay<br /> + On me all day<br /> +I'll kiss the hand that strikes me.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + I will not, I<br /> + Now blubb'ring, cry,<br /> +It (ah!) too late repents me,<br /> + That I did fall<br /> + To love at all,<br /> +Since love so much contents me.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + No, no, I'll be<br /> + In fetters free:<br /> +While others they sit wringing<br /> + Their hands for pain,<br /> + I'll entertain<br /> +The wounds of love with singing.<br /> + —<i>Robert Herrick</i><br /> +</p> + +<p><br /><br /><br /></p> + +<p><a id="p64"></a></p> + +<h3> +Adieu L'Amour<br /> +</h3> + +<p class="poem"> +Here end my chains, and thraldom cease,<br /> +If not in joy, I'll live at least in peace;<br /> +Since for the pleasures of an hour,<br /> +We must endure an age of pain;<br /> +I'll be this abject thing no more,<br /> +Love, give me back my heart again.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +Despair tormented first my breast,<br /> +Now falsehood, a more cruel guest;<br /> +O! for the peace of human kind,<br /> +Make women longer true, or sooner kind;<br /> +With justice, or with mercy reign,<br /> +O Love! or give me back my heart again.<br /> + —<i>George Granville</i> (<i>Lord Lansdowne</i>)<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /><br /><br /></p> + +<h3> +My Little Pretty One<br /> +</h3> + +<p class="poem"> +My little pretty one!<br /> + My softly winning one!<br /> +Oh! thou'rt a merry one!<br /> + And playful as can be.<br /> +With a beck thou com'st anon;<br /> + In a trice, too, thou are gone,<br /> +And I must sigh alone,<br /> + But sighs are lost upon thee.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +Art thou my smiling one,<br /> + Art thou my pouting one,<br /> +Art thou my teasing one,<br /> + A goddess, elf, or grace?<br /> +With a frown thou wound'st my heart,<br /> + With a smile thou heal'st the smart;<br /> +Why play the tyrant's part<br /> + With such an innocent face?<br /> + —<i>Old Song</i><br /> +</p> + +<p><br /><br /><br /></p> + +<p><a id="p65"></a></p> + +<h3> +Song<br /> +</h3> + +<p class="poem"> +Go, lovely Rose,<br /> +Tell her that wastes her time and me,<br /> +That now she knows<br /> +When I resemble her to thee,<br /> +How sweet and fair she seems to be.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +Tell her that's young,<br /> +And shuns to have her graces spied,<br /> +That had'st thou sprung<br /> +In deserts where no men abide,<br /> +Thou must have uncommended died.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +Small is the worth<br /> +Of beauty from the light retired;<br /> +Bid her come forth,<br /> +Suffer herself to be desired,<br /> +And not blush so to be admired.<br /> + —<i>Edmund Waller</i><br /> +</p> + +<p><br /><br /><br /></p> + +<p><a id="p66"></a></p> + +<h3> +Song<br /> +</h3> + +<p class="poem"> +The bee to the heather,<br /> + The lark to the sky,<br /> +The roe to the greenwood,<br /> + And whither shall I?<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +O, Alice! Ah, Alice!<br /> + So sweet to the bee<br /> +Are moorland and heather<br /> + By Cannock and Leigh!<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +O, Alice! Ah, Alice!<br /> + O'er Teddesley Park<br /> +The sunny sky scatters<br /> + The notes of the lark!<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +O, Alice! Ah, Alice!<br /> + In Beaudesert glade<br /> +The roes toss their antlers<br /> + For joy of the shade!—<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +But Alice, dear Alice!<br /> + Glade, moorland, nor sky<br /> +Without you can content me—<br /> + And whither shall I?<br /> + —<i>Sir Henry Taylor</i><br /> +</p> + +<p><br /><br /><br /></p> + +<p><a id="p67"></a></p> + +<h3> +Song<br /> +</h3> + +<p class="poem"> +The lark now leaves his wat'ry nest,<br /> + And climbing, shakes his dewy wings,<br /> +He takes your window for the east,<br /> + And to implore your light, he sings;<br /> +Awake, awake, the morn will never rise<br /> +Till she can dress her beauty at your eyes.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +The merchant bows unto the seaman's star,<br /> + The ploughman from the sun his season takes;<br /> +But still the lover wonders what they are,<br /> + Who look for day before his mistress wakes.<br /> +Awake, awake, break through your veils of lawn,<br /> +Then draw your curtains, and begin the dawn.<br /> + —<i>William D'Avenant</i><br /> +</p> + +<p><br /><br /><br /></p> + +<h3> +Rain on the Down<br /> +</h3> + +<p class="poem"> +Night, and the down by the sea,<br /> +And the veil of rain on the down;<br /> +And she came through the mist and the rain to me<br /> +From the safe warm lights of the town.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +The rain shone in her hair,<br /> +And her face gleam'd in the rain;<br /> +And only the night and the rain were there<br /> +As she came to me out of the rain.<br /> + —<i>Arthur Symons</i><br /> +</p> + +<p><br /><br /><br /></p> + +<p><a id="p68"></a></p> + +<h3> +Down by the Sally Gardens<br /> +</h3> + +<p class="poem"> +Down by the sally gardens my love and I did meet;<br /> +She pass'd the sally gardens with little snow-white feet.<br /> +She bid me take love easy, as the leaves grow on the tree;<br /> +But I, being young and foolish, with her would not agree.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +In a field by the river my love and I did stand,<br /> +And on my leaning shoulder she laid her snow-white hand.<br /> +She bade me take life easy, as the grass grows on the weirs;<br /> +But I was young and foolish, and now am full of tears.<br /> + —<i>William Butler Yeats</i><br /> +</p> + +<p><br /><br /><br /></p> + +<h3> +Song<br /> +</h3> + +<p class="poem"> +She's somewhere in the sunlight strong,<br /> + Her tears are in the falling rain,<br /> +She calls me in the wind's soft song,<br /> + And with the flowers she comes again.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +Yon bird is but her messenger,<br /> + The moon is but her silver car.<br /> +Yea! sun and moon are sent by her,<br /> + And every wistful waiting star.<br /> + —<i>Richard Le Gallienne</i><br /> +</p> + +<p><br /><br /><br /></p> + +<p><a id="p69"></a></p> + +<h3> +Song<br /> +</h3> + +<p class="poem"> +When Delia on the plain appears<br /> +Aw'd by a thousand tender fears,<br /> +I would approach, but dare not move:<br /> +Tell me, my heart, if this be love?<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +Whene'er she speaks, my ravish'd ear<br /> +No other voice but hers can hear,<br /> +No other wit but hers approve:<br /> +Tell me, my heart, if this be love?<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +If she some other youth commend,<br /> +Though I was once his fondest friend,<br /> +His instant enemy I prove:<br /> +Tell me, my heart, if this be love?<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +When she is absent, I no more<br /> +Delight in all that pleas'd before,<br /> +The clearest spring, or shadiest grove:<br /> +Tell me, my heart, if this be love?<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +When, fond of power, of beauty vain,<br /> +Her nets she spread for every swain,<br /> +I strove to hate, but vainly strove:<br /> +Tell me, my heart, if this be love?<br /> + —<i>George Lyttleton</i><br /> +</p> + +<p><br /><br /><br /></p> + +<p><a id="p70"></a></p> + +<h3> + Advice Against Travel +</h3> + +<p class="poem"> +Traverse not the globe for lore! The sternest<br /> +But the surest teacher is the heart;<br /> +Studying that and that alone, thou learnest<br /> +Best and soonest whence and what thou art.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +Moor, Chinese, Egyptian, Russian, Roman,<br /> +Tread one common down-hill path of doom;<br /> +Everywhere the names are man and woman,<br /> +Everywhere the old sad sins find room.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +Evil angels tempt us in all places.<br /> +What but sands or snows hath earth to give?<br /> +Dream not, friend, of deserts and oases;<br /> +But look inwards, and begin to live!<br /> + —<i>James Clarence Mangan</i><br /> +</p> + +<p><br /><br /><br /></p> + +<h3> +Remember<br /> +</h3> + +<p class="poem"> +Remember me when I am gone away,<br /> + Gone far away into the silent land;<br /> + When you can no more hold me by the hand,<br /> +Nor I half turn to go, yet turning stay.<br /> +Remember me when no more day by day<br /> + You tell me of our future that you plann'd:<br /> + Only remember me; you understand.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +It will be late to counsel then or pray.<br /> + Yet if you should forget me for a while<br /> + And afterwards remember, do not grieve:<br /> +For if the darkness and corruption leave<br /> +A vestige of the thoughts that once I had,<br /> + Better by far you should forget and smile<br /> + Than that you should remember and be sad.<br /> + —<i>Christina Georgina Rossetti</i><br /> +</p> + +<p><br /><br /><br /></p> + +<p><a id="p71"></a></p> + +<p class="poem"> +There be none of Beauty's daughters<br /> + With a magic like thee;<br /> +And like music on the waters<br /> + Is thy sweet voice to me:<br /> +When, as if its sound were causing<br /> +The charmed ocean's pausing,<br /> +The waves lie still and gleaming<br /> +And the lull'd winds seem dreaming.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +And the midnight moon is weaving<br /> + Her bright chain o'er the deep;<br /> +Whose breast is gently heaving<br /> + As an infant's asleep;<br /> +So, the spirit bows before thee,<br /> +To listen and adore thee;<br /> +With a full but soft emotion,<br /> +Like the swell of Summer's ocean.<br /> + —<i>George Gordon</i> (<i>Lord Byron</i>)<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /><br /><br /></p> + +<p><a id="p72"></a></p> + +<h3> +A Valentine<br /> +</h3> + +<p class="poem"> +What shall I send my love today<br /> + When all the woods attune to love,<br /> + And I would show the lark and dove<br /> +That I can love as well as they? ...<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +I'll send a kiss, for that would be<br /> + The quickest sent, the lightest borne;<br /> + And well I know to-morrow morn<br /> +She'll send it back again to me.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +Go, happy winds! ah, do not stay<br /> + Enamour'd of my lady's cheek,<br /> + But hasten home, and I'll bespeak<br /> +Your services another day!<br /> + —<i>Matilda Betham Edwards</i><br /> +</p> + +<p><br /><br /><br /></p> + +<h3> +To His Mistress, Objecting to His Neither Toying<br /> +nor Talking<br /> +</h3> + +<p class="poem"> +You say I love not, 'cause I do not play<br /> +Still with your curls, and kiss the time away.<br /> +You blame me, too, because I can't devise<br /> +Some sport, to please those babies in your eyes;<br /> +By Love's religion, I must here confess it,<br /> +The most I love when I the least express it.<br /> +Small griefs find tongues; full casks are ever found<br /> +To give, if any, yet but little sound.<br /> +Deep waters noiseless are; and this we know,<br /> +That chiding streams betray small depths below.<br /> +So, when Love speechless is, she doth express<br /> +A depth in love, and that depth bottomless.<br /> +Now since my love is tongueless, know me such,<br /> +Who speak but little, 'cause I love so much.<br /> + —<i>Robert Herrick</i><br /> +</p> + +<p><br /><br /><br /></p> + +<p><a id="p73"></a></p> + +<h3> +When You Are Old<br /> +</h3> + +<p class="poem"> +When you are old and gray and full of sleep<br /> + And, nodding by the fire, take down this book,<br /> + And slowly read, and dream of the soft look<br /> +Your eyes had once, and of their shadows deep;<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +How many loved your moments of glad grace,<br /> + And loved your beauty with love false or true;<br /> + But one man loved the pilgrim soul in you,<br /> +And loved the sorrows of your changing face.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +And bending down beside the glowing bars,<br /> + Murmur, a little sadly, how love fled<br /> + And paced upon the mountains overhead,<br /> +And hid his face amid a crowd of stars.<br /> + —<i>William Butler Yeats</i><br /> +</p> + +<p><br /><br /><br /></p> + +<p><a id="p74"></a></p> + +<h3> +Song<br /> +</h3> + +<p class="poem"> +False though she be to me and love,<br /> + I'll ne'er pursue revenge:<br /> +For still the charmer I approve,<br /> + Though I deplore her change.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +In hours of bliss we oft have met,<br /> + They could not always last;<br /> +And though the present I regret,<br /> + I'm grateful for the past.<br /> + —<i>William Congreve</i><br /> +</p> + +<p><br /><br /><br /></p> + +<h3> +Song<br /> +</h3> + +<p class="poem"> +I lately vow'd, but 'twas in haste,<br /> + That I no more would court<br /> +The joys that seem when they are past<br /> + As dull as they are short.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +I oft to hate my mistress swear,<br /> + But soon my weakness find;<br /> +I make my oaths when she's severe,<br /> + But break them when she's kind.<br /> + —<i>John Oldmixon</i><br /> +</p> + +<p><br /><br /><br /></p> + +<p><a id="p75"></a></p> + +<h3> +My Loves<br /> +</h3> + +<p class="poem"> +Name the leaves on all the trees,<br /> +Name the waves on all the seas,<br /> +Name the notes of all the groves,<br /> +Thus thou namest all my loves.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +I do love the young, the old,<br /> +Maiden modest, virgin bold;<br /> +Tiny beauties and the tall—<br /> +Earth has room enough for all!<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +Which is better—who can say?—<br /> +Mary grave or Lucy gay?<br /> +She who half her charms conceals,<br /> +She who flashes while she feels?<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +Why should I my love confine?<br /> +Why should fair be mine or thine?<br /> +If I praise a tulip, why<br /> +Should I pass the primrose by?<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +Paris was a pedant fool<br /> +Meting beauty by the rule:<br /> +Pallas? Juno? Venus?—he<br /> +Should have chosen all the three!<br /> + —<i>John Stuart Blackie</i><br /> +</p> + +<p><br /><br /><br /></p> + +<p><a id="p76"></a></p> + +<h3> +Cupid Mistaken<br /> +</h3> + +<p class="poem"> +Venus whipt Cupid t'other day,<br /> + For having lost his bow and quiver;<br /> +For he had given them both away<br /> + To Stella, queen of Isis river.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +"Mamma! you wrong me while you strike,"<br /> + Cried weeping Cupid, "for I vow,<br /> +Stella and you are so alike,<br /> + I thought that I had lent them you."<br /> + —<i>William Somerville</i><br /> +</p> + +<p><br /><br /><br /></p> + +<h3> +Song<br /> +</h3> + +<p class="poem"> +Hard is the fate of him who loves,<br /> + Yet dares not tell his trembling pain,<br /> +But to the sympathetic groves,<br /> + But to the lonely listening plain.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +Oh! when she blesses next your shade,<br /> + Oh! when her footsteps next are seen<br /> +In flowery tracts along the mead,<br /> + In fresher mazes o'er the green,<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +Ye gentle spirits of the vale,<br /> + To whom the tears of love are dear,<br /> +From dying lilies waft a gale,<br /> + And sigh my sorrows in her ear.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +Oh, tell her what she cannot blame,<br /> + Though fear my tongue must ever bind;<br /> +Oh, tell her that my virtuous flame<br /> + Is as her spotless soul, refin'd.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +Not her own guardian angel eyes<br /> + With chaster tenderness his care,<br /> +Not purer her own wishes rise,<br /> + Not holier her own sighs in prayer.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +But if, at first, her virgin fear<br /> + Should start at love's suspected name,<br /> +With that of friendship soothe her ear—<br /> + True love and friendship are the same.<br /> + —<i>William Somerville</i><br /> +</p> + +<p><br /><br /><br /></p> + +<p><a id="p77"></a></p> + +<h3> +Faith<br /> +</h3> + +<p class="poem"> +Better trust all, and be deceived,<br /> + And weep that trust and that deceiving,<br /> +Than doubt one heart that, if believed,<br /> + Had bless'd one's life with true believing.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +O, in this mocking world too fast<br /> + The doubting fiend o'ertakes our youth!<br /> +Better be cheated to the last<br /> + Than lose the blessed hope of truth.<br /> + —<i>Frances Anne Kemble</i><br /> +</p> + +<p><br /><br /><br /></p> + +<p><a id="p78"></a></p> + +<h3> +Memories<br /> +</h3> + +<p class="poem"> +A beautiful and happy girl,<br /> + With step as light as summer air,<br /> +Eyes glad with smiles, and brow of pearl,<br /> +Shadow'd by many a careless curl<br /> + Of unconfined and flowing hair;<br /> +A seeming child in everything,<br /> + Save thoughtful brow and ripening charms,<br /> +As Nature wears the smile of Spring<br /> + When sinking into Summer's arms.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +A mind rejoicing in the light<br /> + Which melted through its graceful bower,<br /> +Leaf after leaf, dew-moist and bright,<br /> +And stainless in its holy white,<br /> + Unfolding like a morning flower:<br /> +A heart, which, like a fine-toned lute,<br /> + With every breath of feeling woke,<br /> +And, even when the tongue was mute,<br /> + From eye and lip in music spoke.<br /> + —<i>John Greenleaf Whittier</i><br /> +</p> + +<p><br /><br /><br /></p> + +<h3> +The Forest Maid<br /> +</h3> + +<p class="poem"> +O fairest of the rural maids!<br /> +Thy birth was in the forest shades;<br /> +And all the beauty of the place<br /> +Is in thy heart and on thy face.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +The twilight of the trees and rocks<br /> +Is in the light shade of thy locks,<br /> +Thy step is as the wind that weaves<br /> +Its playful way among the leaves.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +Thine eyes are springs, in whose serene<br /> +And silent waters heaven is seen;<br /> +Their lashes are the herds that look<br /> +On their young figures in the brook.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +The forest depths by foot unpress'd<br /> +Are not more sinless than thy breast;<br /> +The holy peace that fills the air<br /> +Of those calm solitudes is there.<br /> + —<i>William Cullen Bryant</i><br /> +</p> + +<p><br /><br /><br /></p> + +<p><a id="p79"></a></p> + +<h3> +All's Well<br /> +</h3> + +<p class="poem"> +The clouds, which rise with thunder, slake<br /> + Our thirsty souls with rain;<br /> +The blow most dreaded falls to break<br /> + From off our limbs a chain;<br /> +And wrongs of man to man but make<br /> + The love of God more plain.<br /> +As through the shadowy lens of even<br /> +The eye looks farthest into heaven<br /> +On gleams of star and depths of blue<br /> +The glaring sunshine never knew!<br /> + —<i>John Greenleaf Whittier</i><br /> +</p> + +<p><br /><br /><br /></p> + +<p><a id="p80"></a></p> + +<h3> + A Violinist +</h3> + +<p class="poem"> +The lark above our heads doth know<br /> +A heaven we see not here below;<br /> +She sees it, and for joy she sings;<br /> +Then falls with ineffectual wings.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +Ah, soaring soul! faint not nor tire!<br /> +Each heaven attain'd reveals a higher,<br /> +Thy thought is of thy failure; we<br /> +List raptured, and thank God for thee.<br /> + —<i>Francis William Bourdillon</i><br /> +</p> + +<p><br /><br /><br /></p> + +<h3> +To Helen<br /> +</h3> + +<p class="poem"> +Helen, thy beauty is to me<br /> + Like those Nicean barks of yore<br /> +That gently, o'er a perfumed sea,<br /> + The weary way-worn wanderer bore<br /> + To his own native shore.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +On desperate seas long wont to roam,<br /> + Thy hyacinth hair, thy classic face,<br /> +Thy Naiad airs have brought me home<br /> + To the glory that was Greece,<br /> +And the grandeur that was Rome.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +Lo, in yon brilliant window-niche<br /> + How statue-like I see thee stand,<br /> + The agate lamp within thy hand,<br /> +Ah! Psyche, from the regions which<br /> + Are holy land!<br /> + —<i>Edgar Allan Poe</i><br /> +</p> + +<p><br /><br /><br /></p> + +<p><a id="p81"></a></p> + +<h3> +The Truth of Woman<br /> +</h3> + +<p class="poem"> +Woman's faith, and woman's trust—<br /> +Write the characters in dust;<br /> +Stamp them on the running stream,<br /> +Print them on the moon's pale beam,<br /> +And each evanescent letter<br /> +Shall be clearer, firmer, better,<br /> +And more permanent, I ween,<br /> +Than the thing those letters mean.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +I have strain'd the spider's thread<br /> +'Gainst the promise of a maid;<br /> +I have weigh'd a grain of sand<br /> +'Gainst her plight of heart and hand;<br /> +I hold my true love of the token,<br /> +How her faith proved light and her word was broken:<br /> +Again her word and truth she plight,<br /> +And I believed them again ere night.<br /> + —<i>Sir Walter Scott</i><br /> +</p> + +<p><br /><br /><br /></p> + +<p><a id="p82"></a></p> + +<h3> +Ageanax<br /> +</h3> + +<p class="poem"> +Dear voyager, a lucky star be thine,<br /> + To Mytilene sailing over sea,<br /> +Or foul or fair the constellations shine,<br /> + Or east or west the wind-blown billows flee.<br /> +May halcyon-birds that hover o'er the brine<br /> + Diffuse abroad their own tranquillity,<br /> +Till ocean stretches stilly as the wine<br /> + In this deep cup which now we drain to thee.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +From lip to lip the merry circle through<br /> + We pass the tankard and repeat thy name;<br /> +And having pledged thee once, we pledge anew,<br /> + Lest in thy friends' neglect thou suffer shame.<br /> +God-speed to ship, good health to pious crew,<br /> + Peace by the way, and port of noble fame!<br /> + —<i>Edward Cracroft Lefroy</i><br /> +</p> + +<p><br /><br /><br /></p> + +<h3> +Names<br /> +</h3> + +<p class="poem"> +I asked my fair, one happy day,<br /> +What I should call her in my lay;<br /> + By what sweet name from Rome or Greece:<br /> +Lalage, Neaera, Chloris,<br /> +Sappho, Lesbia, or Doris,<br /> + Arethusa or Lucrece.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +"Ah!" returned my gentle fair,<br /> +"Beloved, what are names but air?<br /> + Choose whatever suits the line;<br /> +Call me Sappho, call me Chloris,<br /> +Call me Lalage or Doris,<br /> + Only, only call me Thine!"<br /> + —<i>Samuel Taylor Coleridge</i><br /> +</p> + +<p><br /><br /><br /></p> + +<p><a id="p83"></a></p> + +<h3> +A Summer Day in Old Sicily<br /> +</h3> + +<p class="poem"> +Gods, what a sun! I think the world's aglow<br /> + This garment irks me. Phoebus, it is hot!<br /> + 'Twere sad if Glycera should find me shot<br /> +By flame-tipp'd arrows from the Archer's bow.<br /> + Perchance he envies me,—the villain! O<br /> + For one tree's shadow or a cliff-side grot!<br /> +Where shall I shelter that he slay me not?<br /> + In what cool air or element?—I know.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +The sea shall save me from the sweltering land:<br /> + Far out I'll wade, till creeping up and up,<br /> + The cold green water quenches every limb.<br /> +Then to the jealous god with lifted hand<br /> + I'll pour libation from a rosy cup,<br /> + And leap, and dive, and see the tunnies swim.<br /> + —<i>Edward Cracroft Lefroy</i><br /> +</p> + +<p><br /><br /><br /></p> + +<p><a id="p84"></a></p> + +<h3> +On a Nightingale in April<br /> +</h3> + +<p class="poem"> +The yellow moon is a dancing phantom<br /> + Down secret ways of the flowing shade;<br /> +And the waveless stream has a murmuring whisper<br /> + Where the alders wade.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +Not a breath, not a sigh, save the slow stream's whisper:<br /> + Only the moon is a dancing blade<br /> +That leads a host of the Crescent warriors<br /> + To a phantom raid.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +Out of the lands of Faerie a summons,<br /> + A long strange cry that thrills thro' the glade:—<br /> +The grey-green glooms of the elm are stirring,<br /> + Newly afraid.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +Last heard, white music, under the olives<br /> + Where once Theocritus sang and play'd—<br /> +Thy Thracian song is the old new wonder—<br /> + O moon-white maid!<br /> + —<i>William Sharp</i><br /> +</p> + +<p><br /><br /><br /></p> + +<p><a id="p85"></a></p> + +<h3> +Home-Thoughts from Abroad<br /> +</h3> + +<p class="poem"> +O, to be in England<br /> +Now that April's there,<br /> +And whoever wakes in England<br /> +Sees, some morning, unaware,<br /> +That the lowest boughs and the brushwood sheaf<br /> +Round the elm-tree bole are in tiny leaf,<br /> +While the chaffinch sings on the orchard bough<br /> +In England—now!<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +And after April, when May follows,<br /> +And the whitethroat builds, and all the swallows!<br /> +Hark, where my blossom'd pear-tree in the hedge<br /> +Leans to the field and scatters on the clover<br /> +Blossoms and dewdrops—at the bent spray's edge—<br /> +That's the wise thrush; he sings each song twice over,<br /> +Lest you should think he never could recapture<br /> +The first fine careless rapture!<br /> +And though the fields look rough with hoary dew,<br /> +All will be gay when noontide wakes anew<br /> +The buttercups, the little children's dower<br /> +—Far brighter than this gaudy melon-flower!<br /> + —<i>Robert Browning</i><br /> +</p> + +<p><br /><br /><br /></p> + +<p><a id="p86"></a></p> + +<h3> +Few Happy Matches<br /> +</h3> + +<p class="poem"> +Say, mighty Love, and teach my song,<br /> +To whom thy sweetest joys belong,<br /> + And who the happy pairs<br /> +Whose yielding hearts, and joining hands,<br /> +Find blessings twisted with their bands<br /> + To soften all their cares.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +Two kindest souls alone must meet,<br /> +'Tis friendship makes the bondage sweet,<br /> + And feeds their mutual loves:<br /> +Bright Venus on her rolling throne<br /> +Is drawn by gentlest birds alone,<br /> + And Cupids yoke the doves.<br /> + —<i>Dr. Isaac Watts</i><br /> +</p> + +<p><br /><br /><br /></p> + +<h3> +A Song<br /> +</h3> + +<p class="poem"> +Gentle love, this hour befriend me,<br /> + To my eyes resign thy dart;<br /> +Notes of melting music lend me,<br /> + To dissolve a frozen heart.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +Chill as mountain snow her bosom,<br /> + Though I tender language use,<br /> +'Tis by cold indifference frozen,<br /> + To my arms, and to my Muse.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +See! my dying eyes are pleading,<br /> + Where a breaking heart appears;<br /> +For thy pity interceding<br /> + With the eloquence of tears.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +While the lamp of life is fading,<br /> + And beneath thy coldness dies,<br /> +Death my ebbing pulse invading,<br /> + Take my soul into thy eyes.<br /> + —<i>Aaron Hill</i><br /> +</p> + +<p><br /><br /><br /></p> + +<p><a id="p87"></a></p> + +<h3> +Love's Likeness<br /> +</h3> + +<p class="poem"> +O mark yon Rose-tree! When the West<br /> +Breathes on her with too warm a zest,<br /> + She turns her cheek away;<br /> +Yet if one moment he refrain,<br /> +She turns her cheek to him again,<br /> + And woos him still to stay!<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +Is she not like a maiden coy<br /> +Press'd by some amorous-breathing boy?<br /> + Tho' coy, she courts him too,<br /> +Winding away her slender form,<br /> +She will not have him woo so warm,<br /> + And yet will have him woo!<br /> + —<i>George Darley</i><br /> +</p> + +<p><br /><br /><br /></p> + +<p><a id="p88"></a></p> + +<h3> +My Lady<br /> +</h3> + +<p class="poem"> +I loved her for that she was beautiful;<br /> +And that to me she seem'd to be all Nature,<br /> +And all varieties of things in one:<br /> +Would set at night in clouds of tears, and rise<br /> +All light and laughter in the morning; fear<br /> +No petty customs nor appearances;<br /> +But think what others only dream'd about;<br /> +And say what others did but think; and do<br /> +What others did but say; and glory in<br /> +What others dared but do; so pure withal<br /> +In soul; in heart and act such conscious yet<br /> +Such perfect innocence, she made round her<br /> +A halo of delight. 'Twas these which won me;—<br /> +And that she never school'd within her breast<br /> +One thought or feeling, but gave holiday<br /> +To all; and that she made all even mine<br /> +In the communion of Love; and we<br /> +Grew like each other, for we loved each other;<br /> +She, mild and generous as the air in Spring;<br /> +And I, like Earth all budding out with love.<br /> + —<i>Philip James Bailey</i><br /> +</p> + +<p><br /><br /><br /></p> + +<p><a id="p89"></a></p> + +<h3> +To a Discarded Toast<br /> +</h3> + +<p class="poem"> +Celia, confess 'tis all in vain<br /> + To patch the ruins of thy face;<br /> +Nor of ill-natur'd time complain,<br /> + That robs it of each blooming grace.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +If love no more shall bend his bow,<br /> + Nor point his arrows from thine eye,<br /> +If no lac'd fop, nor feathered beau,<br /> + Despairing at thy feet shall die.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +Yet still, my charmer, wit like thine<br /> + Shall triumph over age and fate;<br /> +Thy setting beams with lustre shine,<br /> + And rival their meridian height.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +Beauty, fair flower! soon fades away,<br /> + And transient are the joys of love;<br /> +But wit, and virtue ne'er decay,<br /> + Ador'd below, and bless'd above.<br /> + —<i>William Somerville</i><br /> +</p> + +<p><br /><br /><br /></p> + +<p><a id="p90"></a></p> + +<h3> + The Bonnie Wee Thing +</h3> + +<p class="poem"> +Bonnie wee thing, cannie wee thing,<br /> + Lovely wee thing, wast thou mine,<br /> +I wad wear thee in my bosom,<br /> + Lest my jewel I should tine.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +Wishfully I look and languish<br /> + In that bonnie face o' thine;<br /> +And my heart it stounds wi' anguish,<br /> + Lest my wee thing be na mine.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +Wit, and grace, and love, and beauty,<br /> + In ae constellation shine;<br /> +To adore thee is my duty,<br /> + Goddess o' this sould of mine.<br /> + —<i>Robert Burns</i><br /> +</p> + +<p><br /><br /><br /></p> + +<h3> +Song from "The Princess"<br /> +</h3> + +<p class="poem"> +Now sleeps the crimson petal, now the white;<br /> + Nor waves the cypress in the palace walk;<br /> +Nor winks the gold fin in the porphyry font;<br /> +The firefly wakens: waken thou with me.<br /> + Now droops the milk-white peacock like a ghost,<br /> +And like a ghost she glimmers on to me.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Now lies the Earth all Danaë to the stars,<br /> +And all thy heart lies open unto me.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Now slides the silent meteor on, and leaves<br /> +A shining furrow, as thy thoughts in me.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Now folds the lily all her sweetness up,<br /> +And slips into the bosom of the lake:<br /> +So fold thyself, my dearest, thou, and slip<br /> +Into my bosom and be lost in me.<br /> + —<i>Alfred Tennyson</i><br /> +</p> + +<p><br /><br /><br /></p> + +<p><a id="p91"></a></p> + +<h3> +Song<br /> +</h3> + +<p class="poem"> +She is not fair to outward view<br /> + As many maidens be;<br /> +Her loveliness I never knew<br /> + Until she smiled on me;<br /> +O, then I saw her eye was bright,<br /> +A well of love, a spring of light!<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +But now her looks are coy and cold,<br /> + To mine they ne'er reply,<br /> +And yet I cease not to behold<br /> + The love-light in her eye:<br /> +Her very frowns are fairer far<br /> +Than smiles of other maidens are.<br /> + —<i>Hartley Coleridge</i><br /> +</p> + +<p><br /><br /><br /></p> + +<p><a id="p92"></a></p> + +<h3> +To a Lofty Beauty, from Her Poor Kinsman<br /> +</h3> + +<p class="poem"> +Fair maid, had I not heard thy baby cries,<br /> +Nor seen thy girlish, sweet vicissitude,<br /> + Thy mazy motions, striving to elude,<br /> +Yet wooing still a parent's watchful eyes,<br /> +Thy humours, many as the opal's dyes,<br /> + And lovely all;—methinks thy scornful mood,<br /> + And bearing high of stately womanhood,—<br /> +Thy brow, where Beauty sits to tyrannize<br /> + O'er humble love, had made me sadly fear thee;<br /> +For never sure was seen a royal bride,<br /> +Whose gentleness gave grace to so much pride—<br /> + My very thoughts would tremble to be near thee:<br /> +But when I see thee at thy father's side,<br /> + Old times unqueen thee, and old loves endear thee.<br /> + —<i>Hartley Coleridge</i><br /> +</p> + +<p><br /><br /><br /></p> + +<h3> +Time of Roses<br /> +</h3> + +<p class="poem"> +It was not in the Winter<br /> + Our loving lot was cast;<br /> +It was the time of roses—<br /> + We pluck'd them as we pass'd!<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +That churlish season never frown'd<br /> + On early lovers yet:<br /> +O no—the world was newly crown'd<br /> + With flowers when first we met!<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +'Twas twilight, and I bade you go<br /> + But still you held me fast;<br /> +It was the time of roses—<br /> + We pluck'd them as we pass'd!<br /> + —<i>Thomas Hood</i><br /> +</p> + +<p><br /><br /><br /></p> + +<p><a id="p93"></a></p> + +<h3> +Hermione<br /> +</h3> + +<p class="poem"> +Thou hast beauty bright and fair,<br /> + Manner noble, aspect free,<br /> +Eyes that are untouch'd by care;<br /> + What then do we ask from thee?<br /> + Hermione, Hermione!<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +Thou hast reason quick and strong,<br /> + Wit that envious men admire,<br /> +And a voice, itself a song!<br /> + What then can we still desire?<br /> + Hermione, Hermione!<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +Something thou dost want, O queen!<br /> + (As the gold doth ask alloy),<br /> +Tears—amidst thy laughter seen,<br /> + Pity—mingling with thy joy.<br /> + This is all we ask from thee,<br /> + Hermione, Hermione!<br /> + —<i>Bryan Waller Proctor</i><br /> +</p> + +<p><br /><br /><br /></p> + +<p><a id="p94"></a></p> + +<h3> +Delia<br /> +</h3> + +<p class="poem"> +Fair the face of orient day,<br /> +Fair the tints of op'ning rose;<br /> +But fairer still my Delia dawns,<br /> +More lovely far her beauty blows.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +Sweet the lark's wild-warbled lay,<br /> +Sweet the tinkling rill to hear;<br /> +But, Delia, more delightful still,<br /> +Steal thine accents on mine ear.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +The flower-enamour'd busy bee<br /> +The rosy banquet loves to sip;<br /> +Sweet the streamlet's limpid lapse<br /> +To the sun-brown'd Arab's lip.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +But, Delia, on thy balmy lips<br /> +Let me, no vagrant insect, rove!<br /> +O let me steal one liquid kiss!<br /> +For oh! my soul is parch'd with love.<br /> + —<i>Robert Burns</i><br /> +</p> + +<p><br /><br /><br /></p> + +<h3> +Speaking and Kissing<br /> +</h3> + +<p class="poem"> +The air which thy smooth voice doth break,<br /> + Into my soul like lightning flies;<br /> +My life retires while thou dost speak,<br /> + And thy soft breath its room supplies.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +Lost in this pleasing ecstasy,<br /> + I join my trembling lips to thine,<br /> +And back receive that life from thee<br /> + Which I so gladly did resign.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +Forbear, Platonic fools! t'inquire<br /> + What numbers do the soul compose;<br /> +No harmony can life inspire<br /> + But that which from these accents flows.<br /> + —<i>Thomas Stanley</i><br /> +</p> + +<p><br /><br /><br /></p> + +<p><a id="p95"></a></p> + +<h3> +A Rondeau to Ethel<br /> +</h3> + +<p class="poem"> +"In tea-cup times"! The style of dress<br /> +Would meet your beauty, I confess;<br /> + Belinda-like, the patch you'd wear;<br /> + I picture you the powdered hair,—<br /> +You'd make a charming Shepherdess!<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +And I—no doubt—could well express<br /> +Sir Plume's complete conceitedness,—<br /> + Could poise a clouded cane with care<br /> + "In tea-cup times"!<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +The parts would fit precisely—yes;<br /> +We should achieve a huge success!<br /> + You should disdain, and I despair,<br /> + With quite the true Augustan air;<br /> +But ... could I love you more, or less,—<br /> + "In tea-cup times"?<br /> + —<i>Austin Dobson</i><br /> +</p> + +<p><br /><br /><br /></p> + +<p><a id="p96"></a></p> + +<h3> +The Nun<br /> +</h3> + +<p class="poem"> +If you become a nun, dear,<br /> + A friar I will be;<br /> +In any cell you run, dear,<br /> + Pray look behind for me.<br /> +The roses all turn pale, too;<br /> +The doves all take the veil, too;<br /> + The blind will see the show.<br /> +What! you become a nun, my dear?<br /> + I'll not believe it, no!<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +If you become a nun, dear,<br /> + The bishop Love will be;<br /> +The Cupids every one, dear,<br /> + Will chant "We trust in thee."<br /> +The incense will go sighing,<br /> +The candles fall a-dying,<br /> + The water turn to wine;<br /> +What! you go take the vows, my dear?<br /> + You may—but they'll be mine!<br /> + —<i>Leigh Hunt</i><br /> +</p> + +<p><br /><br /><br /></p> + +<p><a id="p97"></a></p> + +<h3> +Under the Wattle<br /> +</h3> + +<p class="poem"> +"Why should not Wattle do<br /> + For Mistletoe?<br /> +Ask'd one—they were but two—<br /> + Where wattles grow.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +He was her lover, too,<br /> + Who urged her so—<br /> +"Why should not Wattle do<br /> + For Mistletoe?"<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +A rose-cheek rosier grew;<br /> + Rose-lips breathed low—<br /> +"Since it is here—and You—<br /> + I hardly know<br /> +Why Wattle should not do."<br /> + —<i>Douglas Brook Wheelton Sladen</i><br /> +</p> + +<p><br /><br /><br /></p> + +<p><a id="p98"></a></p> + +<h3> +Eutopia<br /> +</h3> + +<p class="poem"> +There is a garden where lilies<br /> + And roses are side by side;<br /> +And all day between them in silence<br /> + The silken butterflies glide.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +I may not enter the garden,<br /> + Tho' I know the road thereto;<br /> +And morn by morn to the gateway<br /> + I see the children go.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +They bring back light on their faces;<br /> + But they cannot bring back to me<br /> +What the lilies say to the roses,<br /> + Or the songs of the butterflies be.<br /> + —<i>Francis Turner Palgrave</i><br /> +</p> + +<p><br /><br /><br /></p> + +<p class="t4"> +Designed and Printed<br /> +in the Shop of<br /> +P. F. Volland Company<br /> +Chicago<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /><br /><br /></p> + +<p class="capcenter"> +<a id="img-rcover"></a> +<img class="imgcenter" src="images/img-rcover.jpg" alt="Rear cover" /> +</p> + +<p><br /><br /><br /><br /></p> + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's A Little Book of Old Time Verse, by Various + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A LITTLE BOOK OF OLD TIME VERSE *** + +***** This file should be named 38839-h.htm or 38839-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/3/8/8/3/38839/ + +Produced by Al Haines + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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