Many A Man Doth Speake Of Mee
Many a man doth speake of mee,
But no man euer shall me see,
For all in one, doe full agree
That no where must my dwelling bee.
poem by Anonymous Olde English
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Sonnet VIII
MOre then most faire, full of the liuing fire,
Kindled aboue vnto the maker neere:
no eies buy ioyes, in which al powers conspire,
that to the world naught else be counted deare.
Thrugh your bright beams doth not ye blinded guest,
shoot out his darts to base affections wound:
but Angels come to lead fraile mindes to rest
in chast desires on heauenly beauty bound.
You frame my thoughts and fashion me within,
you stop my toung, and teach my hart to speake,
you calme the storme that passion did begin,
stro[n]g thrugh your cause, but by your vertue weak.
Dark is the world, where your light shined neuer;
well is he borne, that may behold you euer.
poem by Edmund Spenser
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Sonnet VI
BE nought dismayd that her vnmoued mind,
doth still persist in her rebellious pride:
such loue not lyke to lusts of baser kynd,
the harder wonne, the firmer will abide.
The durefull Oake, whose sap is not yet dride,
is long ere it conceiue the kindling fyre:
but when it once doth burne, it doth diuide
great heat, and makes his flames to heauen aspire.
So hard it is to kindle new desire,
in gentle brest that shall endure for euer:
deepe is the wound, that dints the parts entire
with chast affects, that naught but death can seuer.
Then thinke not long in taking litle paine,
to knit the knot, that euer shall remaine.
poem by Edmund Spenser
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Sonnet XLIII
SHall I then silent be or shall I speake?
And if I speake, her wrath renew I shall:
and if I silent be, my hart will breake,
or choked be with ouerflowing gall.
What tyranny is this both my hart to thrall,
and eke my toung with proud restraint to tie?
that nether I may speake nor thinke at all,
but like a stupid stock in silence die.
Yet I my hart with silence secretly
will teach to speak, and my iust cause to plead:
and eke mine eies with meeke humility,
loue learned letters to her eyes to read.
Which her deep wit, that true harts thought can spel,
wil soone conceiue, and learne to construe well.
poem by Edmund Spenser
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Sonnet XLVIII
INnocent paper whom too cruell hand,
Did make the matter to auenge her yre:
and ere she could thy cause wel vnderstand,
did sacrifize vnto the greedy fyre.
Well worthy thou to haue found better hyre,
then so bad end for hereticks ordayned:
yet heresy nor treason didst conspire,
but plead thy maisters cause vniustly payned.
Whom all the carelesse of his griefe constrayned
to vtter forth th'anguish of his hart:
and would not heare, when he to her complayned,
the piteous passion of his dying smart.
Yet liue for euer, though against her will,
and speake her good, though she requite it ill.
poem by Edmund Spenser
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In Laudem Authoris.
Like to the weake estate of a poore friend,
To whom sweet fortune hath bene euer slow,
VVhich dayly doth that happy howre attend,
VVhen his poore state may his affection shew:
So fares my loue, not able as the rest,
To chaunt thy prayses in a lofty vayne,
Yet my poore Muse doth vow to doe her best,
And wanting wings, shee'le tread an humble strayne.
I thought at first her homely steps to rayse,
And for some blazing Epithites to looke,
But then I fear'd, that by such wondrous prayse,
Some men would grow suspicious of thy booke:
For hee that doth thy due deserts reherse,
Depriues that glory from thy worthy verse.
poem by Francis Beaumont
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Sonnet LXXIIII
MOst happy letters fram'd by skilfull trade,
with which that happy name was first defynd:
the which three times thrise happy hath me made,
with guifts of body, fortune and of mind.
The first my being to me gaue by kind,
from mothers womb deriu'd by dew descent,
the second is my souereigne Queene most kind,
that honour and large richesse to me lent.
The third my loue, my liues last ornament,
by whom my spirit out of dust was raysed:
to speake her prayse and glory excellent,
of all aliue most worthy to be praysed.
Ye three Elizabeths for euer liue,
that three such graces did vnto me giue.
poem by Edmund Spenser
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Though that Men do Call it Dotage
1 Though that men do call it dotage,
2 Who loveth not wanteth courage;
3 And whosoever may love get,
4 From Venus sure he must it fet
5 Or else from her which is her heir,
6 And she to him must seem most fair.
7 With eye and mind doth both agree.
8 There is no boot: there must it be.
9 The eye doth look and represent,
10 But mind afformeth with full consent.
11 Thus am I fixed without grudge:
12 Mine eye with heart doth me so judge.
13 Love maintaineth all noble courage.
14 Who love disdaineth is all of the village:
15 Such lovers--though they take pain--
16 It were pity they should obtain,
17 For often times where they do sue
18 They hinder lovers that would be true.
19 For whoso loveth should love but once.
20 Change whoso will, I will be none.
poem by Henry VIII King of England
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Sonnet LIII
THe Panther knowing that his spotted hyde,
Doth please all beasts but that his looks the[m] fray:
within a bush his dreadfull head doth hide,
to let them gaze whylest he on them may pray.
Right so my cruell fayre with me doth play,
for with the goodly semblant of her hew:
she doth allure me to mine owne decay,
and then no mercy will vnto me shew.
Great shame it is, thing so diuine in view,
made for to be the worlds most ornament:
to make the bayte her gazers to embrew,
good shames to be so ill an instrument.
But mercy doth with beautie best agree,
as in theyr maker ye them best may see.
poem by Edmund Spenser
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Opposite To Meloncholly
Returne my joyes, and hither bring
A tongue not made to speake but sing,
A jolly spleene, an inward feast,
A causelesse laugh without a jest,
A face which gladnesse doth anoynt,
An arm that springs out of his joynt,
A sprightfull gate that leaves no print,
And makes a feather of a flint,
A heart that's lighter than the ayre,
An eye still dancing in his spheare,
Strong mirth which nothing can controule,
A body nimbler than the soule,
Free wandring thoughts not tyde to muse
Which thinke on all things, nothing choose,
Which ere we see them come are gone;
These life itselfe doth feede upon.
poem by William Strode
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The Day We Met
the day we met
our eyes level
our hands entwine
both full grown
and mature
our heads
are different
mine is bigger
and yours so
hard and brittle
yet we agree
on something
and some feelings
we agree
we do not have to change
you or me
or both of us
we agree
on this love
we accept
everything
what i have you take
what you have i too, take
it is all yes
there is no no
but for our survival
we agree
that on some blanks
we may fill up
and make our own
answers
brief and concise
and no tearing
of pages
no return
no exchange
these are the rules
these are the instructions
now, we may proceed
let us turn to the next page, please...
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Sonnet XX
IN vaine I seeke and sew to her for grace,
and doe myne humbled hart before her poure:
the whiles her foot she in my necke doth place,
and tread my life downe in the lowly floure.
And yet the Lyon that is Lord of power,
and reigneth ouer euery beast in field:
in his most pride disdeigneth to deuoure
the silly lambe that to his might doth yield.
But she more cruell and more saluage wylde,
then either Lyon or the Lyonesse:
shames not to be with guiltlesse bloud defylde,
but taketh glory in her cruelnesse.
Fayrer then fayrest let none euer say,
that ye were blooded in a yeelded pray.
poem by Edmund Spenser
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Sonnet LXXIX
MEn call you fayre, and you doe credit it,
For that your selfe ye dayly such doe see:
but the trew fayre, that is the gentle wit,
and vertuous mind is much more praysd of me.
For all the rest, how euer fayre it be,
shall turne to nought and loose that glorious hew:
but onely that is permanent and free
from frayle corruption, that doth flesh ensew.
That is true beautie: that doth argue you
to be diuine and borne of heauenly seed:
deriu'd from that fayre Spirit, from whom al true
and perfect beauty did at first proceed.
He only fayre, and what he fayre hath made,
all other fayre lyke flowres vntymely fade.
poem by Edmund Spenser
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Thule, the Period of Cosmography
Thule, the period of cosmography,
Doth vaunt of Hecla, whose sulphureous fire
Doth melt the frozen clime and thaw the sky;
Trinacrian Etna's flames ascend not higher:
These things seem wondrous, yet more wondrous I,
Whose heart with fear doth freeze, with love doth fry.
The Andalusian merchant, that returns
Laden with cochineal and china dishes,
Reports in Spain how strangely Fogo burns
Amidst an ocean full of flying fishes:
These things seem wondrous, yet more wondrous I,
Whose heart with fear doth freeze, with love doth fry.
poem by Thomas Weelkes
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You Who Have Never Been There....
what then doth the bird
learn from the cage?
what doth the bare limb
learn from the snow?
what doth the starving child
learn from his hunger?
what doth the homeless man
learn from the lighted window?
what doth the oppressed
learn from his oppression?
what doth the one discriminated against
learn from discrimination?
what doth the hopeless one
learn from his despair?
is it that easy for you to know,
you who have never been there?
poem by Eric Cockrell
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To Bacchus: A Canticle
Whither dost thou hurry me,
Bacchus, being full of thee?
This way, that way, that way, this,--
Here and there a fresh Love is;
That doth like me, this doth please;
--Thus a thousand mistresses
I have now: yet I alone,
Having all, enjoy not one!
poem by Robert Herrick
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Sonnet 5
It is reported of faire Thetis Sonne,
(Achilles famous for his chiualry,
His noble minde and magnanimity,)
That when the Troian wars were new begun,
Whos'euer was deepe-wounded with his speare,
Could neuer be recured of his maime,
Nor euer after be made whole againe:
Except with that speares rust he holpen were.
Euen so it fareth with my fortune now,
Who being wounded with his piercing eie,
Must either thereby finde a remedy,
Or els to be releeu'd, I know not how.
Then if thou hast a minde still to annoy me,
Kill me with kisses, if thou wilt destroy me.
poem by Richard Barnfield
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Big and tiny creatures
Big and tiny creatures, are so unique each one,
But they're so amazing each one, out in the noon day sun;
For example, look at the spider, and the web she doth make,
So clever and wonderful, and the time she doth take.
Big and tiny creatures, I am amazed each one I see,
Look at the pigmy possum, trying to hide in a tree;
It's color goes in with the background scene,
But he will cover his steps to hide where he's been.
Big and tiny creatures, do you like the tall giraffe?
To think his neck is so tall, his length is longer than a raft;
Then there's the whale, out in the huge sea,
Moaning and groaning to his mate, amazing do you agree?
Big and tiny creatures, like the tiny crab, or the large hippo,
What about the large elephant, and the tiny ant on the go;
Each one has a job to do, yet both care for their young,
They travel far, travel wide, busy in the hot sun.
Big and tiny creatures, colors some so pretty,
Such as the butterfly, and the flamingo, agree;
Then there is the snakes, and the parrots too,
We should thank God for each one, where thanks is due.
poem by Margaret Haig
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Lilies Without, Lilies Within
Can I think the Guide of Heaven
Hath so beautifully given
Outward features, 'cause He meant
To have made less excellent
Your divine part? Or suppose
Beauty, goodness doth oppose;
Like those fools, who do despair
To find any, good and fair?
Rather there I seek a mind
Most excelling, where I find
God hath to the body lent
Most-beseeming ornament,
And I do believe it true,
That, as we the body view
Nearer to perfection grow;
So, the soul herself doth show:
Other more and more excelling
In her powers; as in her dwelling.
poem by George Wither
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Sonnet LXXII
OFt when my spirit doth spred her bolder winges,
In mind to mount vp to the purest sky:
it down is weighd with thoght of earthly things:
and clogd with burden of mortality,
Where when that souerayne beauty it doth spy,
resembling heauens glory in her light:
drawne with sweet pleasures bayt, it back doth fly,
and vnto heauen forgets her former flight.
There my fraile fancy fed with full delight,
doth bath in blisse and mantleth most at ease:
ne thinks of other heauen, but how it might
her harts desire with most contentment please,
Hart need not with none other happinesse,
but here on earth to haue such heuens blisse.
poem by Edmund Spenser
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Sonnet 35: What May Words Say
What may words say, or what may words not say,
Where truth itself must speak like flattery?
Within what bounds can one his liking stay,
Where Nature doth with infinite agree?
What Nestor's counsel can my flames allay,
Since Reason's self doth blow the coal in me?
And ah what hope, that hope should once see day,
Where Cupid is sworn page to Chastity?
Honor is honor'd, that thou dost possess
Him as thy slave, and now long needy Fame
Doth even grom rich, naming my Stella's name.
Wit learns in thee perfection to express,
Not thou by praise, but prasie in thee is rais'd:
It is a praise to praise, when thou art prais'd.
poem by Philip Sidney
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