Sonnet 8
Sometimes I wish that I his pillow were,
So might I steale a kisse, and yet not seene,
So might I gaze upon his sleeping eine,
Although I did it with a panting feare:
But when I well consider how vaine my wish is,
Ah foolish Bees (thinke I) that doe not sucke
His lips for hony; but poore flowers doe plucke
Which have no sweet in them: when his sole kisses,
Are able to revive a dying soule.
Kisse him, but sting him not, for if you doe,
His angry voice your flying will pursue:
But when they heare his tongue, what can controule,
Their back-returne? for then they plaine may see,
How hony-combs from his lips dropping bee.
poem by Richard Barnfield
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Sonnet 16
Long haue I long'd to see my Loue againe,
Still haue I wisht, but neuer could obtaine it;
Rather than all the world (if I might gaine it)
Would I desire my loues sweet precious gaine.
Yet in my soule I see him euerie day,
See him, and see his still sterne countenaunce,
But (ah) what is of long continuance
Where Maiestie and Beautie beares the sway?
Sometimes, when I imagine that I see him,
(As loue is full of foolish fantasies)
VVeening to kisse his lips, as my loues fee's,
I feele but Aire: nothing but Aire to bee him.
Thus with Ixion, kisse I clouds in vaine:
Thus with Ixion, feele I endles paine.
poem by Richard Barnfield
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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On Six Cambridge Lasses Bathing Themselves
1 When bashfull daylight now was gone
2 And night, that hides a blush, came on.
3 Sixe Pretty Nymphes to wash away
4 The sweatinge of a Summers daye
5 In Chams fair streames did gently swim
6 And naked bathd each curious limbe.
7 O Who had this blist sight but seene
8 Would thinke they all had Cl{oe}lia=s beene.
9 A Scholer that a walke did take
10 Perchance for Meditation sake.
11 This blessed Obiect chan'cd to find
12 Straight all thinges else went out of mind
13 No Studye=s better in this life
14 For Practicke or Contemplatiue:
15 Who thought Poore soule these hee had seene,
16 Fair Dian and her Nymphes had beene.
17 And therefore thought in piteous feare
18 Act{ae}ons fortune was too neere.
19 Or that the Water=Nymphes they were
20 Together met to sport 'um there
21 And that to him such loue they bore
22 As to Iolas once before.
23 What could hee thinke but that his eye
24 Sixe Venusses at once did spie
25 Rise from the waues, or that perchaunce
26 Fresh=Water Syrens came to dance
27 Vpon our streames, with songes and lookes
28 To tempt Poore Scholers from their bookes.
29 Hee cannot thinke they Graces are
30 Vnlesse their number doubled were.
31 Nor can hee thinke they muses bee
32 Bicause alasse they wanted three.
33 I should haue rather guess'd that here
34 Another brood of Helens were
35 Begot by Ioue upon |y+e+| playnes
36 Watchd by some L{ae}da of the Swans.
37 The maydes betrayd were in a fright
38 And blush'd (but twas not seene ith night.)
39 At last all by |y+e+| banke did stand
40 And hee, good harte lent them his hand.
41 Where twas his blisse to feele all ore
42 Soft Paps, smooth thighes and somethinge more.
43 But Enuious Night masqued from his eyes
44 The place where loue and pleasure lyes.
45 Guesse Louers guesse, o you |y+t+| dare
46 What then might bee this Scholers praier
47 That hee were but a Cat to spye
48 Or had but now Tyberius eyes.
49 Yet since this hope was all in Vaine
50 Hee helpes 'um don there cloths agayne.
51 Makes Promise thye shall none bee shent
52 So with them to the Tauerne went.
53 Where how hee then might sport or play
54 Pardon mee Muse I must not say
55 Guesse you that haue a mind to knowe
56 Whither hee were a Foole of no.
poem by Thomas Randolph
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On The Death Of Dr. Lancton President Of Maudlin College
When men for injuryes unsatisfy'd,
For hopes cutt off, for debts not fully payd,
For legacies in vain expected, mourne
Over theyr owne respects within the urne,
Races of tears all striveing first to fall
As frequent are as eye and funerall;
Then high swolne sighes drawne in and sent out strong
Seeme to call back the soule or goe along.
Goodness is seldome such a theam of woe
Unless to her owne tribe some one or two;
But here's a man, (alas a shell of man!)
Whose innocence, more white than silver swan,
Now finds a streame of teares; such perfect greif
That in the traine of mourners hee is cheife
Who lives the greatest gainer; and would faine
Bee now prefer'd unto his loss againe.
The webb of nerves with subtill branches spred
Over the little world, are in theyr head
Scarce so united as in him were knitt
All his dependants: Hee that strives to sitt
So lov'd of all must bee a man as square
As vertues selfe; which those that fly and feare
Can never hate. How seldome have we seene
Such store of flesh joyn'd with so little sin?
His body was not greater than his soule,
Whose limbs were vertues able to controule
All grudg of sloth: and as the body's weight
Hal'd to the centre; so the soule as light
Heav'd upward to her goale. This civill jarre
Could not hold out, but made them part as farre
As earth and heaven: from whence the one shall come
To make her mate more fresh, less cumbersome.
After so sound a sleepe, so sweet a rest,
And both shall then appeare so trimly drest
As freinds that goe to meet: the body shall
Then seeme a soule, the soule Angellicall:
A beautious smile shall passe from that to this,
The joyning soule shall then the body kisse
With its owne lipps: so great shall be the store
Of joy and love that now thei'l part no more;
Such hope hath dust! besides which happines
Death hath not made his earthly share the lesse,
Or quite bereft him of his honors here,
But added more; for liveing hee did steere
The fellowes only; but since hee is dead
Hee's made a president unto theyr head.
poem by William Strode
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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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Sonnet 17
Cherry-Lipt Adonis in his snowie shape,
Might not compare with his pure Ivorie white,
On whose faire front a Poets pen may write,
Whose rosiate red excels the crimson grape,
His love-enticing delicate soft limbs,
Are rarely fram'd fintrap poore gazing eies:
His cheekes, the Lillie and Carnation dies,
With lovely tincture which Apolloes dims.
His lips ripe strawberries in Nectar wet,
His mouth a Hive, his tongue a hony-combe,
Where Muses (like Bees) make their mansion.
His teeth pure Pearle in blushing Correll set.
Oh how can such a body sinne-procuring,
Be slow to love, and quicke to hate, enduring?
poem by Richard Barnfield
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Ad Juvencium. Cat. Ep. 49.
AD JUVENCIUM. CAT. EP. 49.
Mellitos oculos tuos, Juvenci,
Si quis me sinat usque basiare,
Usque ad millia basiem trecenta;
Nec unquam videat satur futurus:
Non si densior aridis aristis,
Sit nostrae seges osculationis.
TO JUVENCIUS.
Juvencius, thy fair sweet eyes
If to my fill that I may kisse,
Three hundred thousand times I'de kisse,
Nor future age should cloy this blisse;
No, not if thicker than ripe ears
The harvest of our kisses bears.
poem by Richard Lovelace
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Dialogue Lucasta, Alexis
I.
Lucasta.
TELL me, ALEXIS, what this parting is,
That so like dying is, but is not it?
Alexis.
It is a swounding for a while from blisse,
'Till kind HOW DOE YOU call's us from the fit.
Chorus.
If then the spirits only stray, let mine
Fly to thy bosome, and my soule to thine:
Thus in our native seate we gladly give
Our right for one, where we can better live.
II.
Lu. But ah, this ling'ring, murdring farewel!
Death quickly wounds, and wounding cures the ill.
Alex. It is the glory of a valiant lover,
Still to be dying, still for to recover.
Cho. Soldiers suspected of their courage goe,
That ensignes and their breasts untorne show:
Love nee're his standard, when his hoste he sets,
Creates alone fresh-bleeding bannerets.
III.
Alex. But part we, when thy figure I retaine
Still in my heart, still strongly in mine eye?
Lu. Shadowes no longer than the sun remaine,
But his beams, that made 'em, fly, they fly.
Cho. Vaine dreames of love! that only so much blisse
Allow us, as to know our wretchednesse;
And deale a larger measure in our paine
By showing joy, then hiding it againe.
IV.
Alex. No, whilst light raigns, LUCASTA still rules here,
And all the night shines wholy in this sphere.
Lu. I know no morne but my ALEXIS ray,
To my dark thoughts the breaking of the day.
Chorus.
Alex. So in each other if the pitying sun
Thus keep us fixt, nere may his course be run!
Lu. And oh! if night us undivided make;
Let us sleepe still, and sleeping never wake!
The close.
Cruel ADIEUS may well adjourne awhile
The sessions of a looke, a kisse, or smile,
And leave behinde an angry grieving blush;
But time nor fate can part us joyned thus.
poem by Richard Lovelace
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Lips Like Sugar
She floats like a swan
Grace on the water
Lips like sugar
Lips like sugar
Just when you think you've caught her
She glides across the water
She calls for you tonight
To share this moonlight
She'll flow down your river
And ask him and she'll give you
Lips like sugar
Sugar kisses
Lips like sugar
Sugar kisses
She knows what she knows
I know what she's thinking
Sugar kisses
Sugar kisses
Just when you think she's yours
She's flown to other shores
To laugh at how you break
To melt into this lake
She'll flow down your river
And ask him and she'll give you
Lips like sugar
Sugar kisses
Lips like sugar
Sugar kisses
She'll be my mirror
Reflect what I am
A loser and a winner
The King of Siam
And my Siamese twin
She knows what I'm thinking
???
She'll flow down your river
And ask him and she'll give you
Lips like sugar
Sugar kisses
Lips like sugar
Sugar kisses
song performed by by Coldplay
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Broken Face
I got a broken face
I got a
I got a broken face
Uh-hu, uh-hu, uh-hu, uh-hu, ooo
I got a broken face (3x)
There was this boy who had two
Children with his sisters
They were his daughters
They were his favourite lovers
I got no lips, I got no tongue
Whatever I say is only spit
I got no lips, I got no tongue
I got a broken face, uh-hu, uh-hu
I got a broken face
There was this man who snapped his poke
In little pieces
And then they drilled holes
And then they put em back in there
I got no lips, I got no tongue
Whatever I say is only spit
I got no lips, I got no tongue
I got a broken face
Uh-hu, uh-hu, uh-hu, uh-hu, ooo
I got a broken face
The little thing who does my laundry
Speaks no english
But if you saw her
Youd say isnt she lovely
I got no lips, I got no tongue
Whatever I say is only spit
I got no lips, I got no tongue
song performed by by Pixies
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Cool Kiss
Kiss making
Sound...
For to touch
The heart...
To punch;
Given by kisses
The air in to
Trees leave's...
The kisse's
Was very cool...
poem by Otteri Selvakumar
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Lord from my tongue, my mouth
Lord from my tongue, my mouth
and lips let there be
gently words,
from my tongue let there be
formed inspiring
words like rose petals
let my mouth open
like a beautiful morning breaking
between two shadows of
hills
let my lips give a smile
as sweet as that of a
kitten
let this poem be as sweet
as a flying kiss
gently so gently
landing on hers
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Rubaiyat 03
I said, your lips said, your lips we revive;
I said, your mouth said, sweetness we derive;
I said your words, he said, Hafiz said;
May all sweet lips be joyous and alive.
poem by Shams al-Din Hafiz
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In Commendation Of Musick
When whispering straynes doe softly steale
With creeping passion through the hart,
And when at every touch wee feele
Our pulses beate and beare a part;
When thredds can make
A hartstring shake
Philosophie
Can scarce deny
The soule consists of harmony.
When unto heavenly joy wee feyne
Whatere the soule affecteth most,
Which onely thus wee can explayne
By musick of the winged hoast,
Whose layes wee think
Make starres to winke,
Philosophie
Can scarce deny
Our soules consist of harmony.
O lull mee, lull mee, charming ayre,
My senses rock with wonder sweete;
Like snowe on wooll thy fallings are,
Soft, like a spiritts, are thy feete:
Greife who need feare
That hath an eare?
Down lett him lye
And slumbring dye,
And change his soule for harmony.
poem by William Strode
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Forbidden Fruit
He presses it to his lips,
Bares his teeth,
And nips at the flesh.
Sweet liquid escapes his lips
And races with his tongue
From the corner
Of his mouth.
He catches the nectarous droplet
And draws it back inside.
Oh my!
How I long for a taste!
To touch his delicious lips with mine.
To fold my tongue through
The warm sweetness of him
Again...again and again.
Ohhhh to hear my name groaned
Through his baritone voice
As my body sings his song.
His eyes....his beautiful eyes are....
Uh oh! !
He sees me!
I feel crimson warmth spread
Across my face
And wonder..
How long have I been staring at him?
© 2012
poem by Ruby Honeytip
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December Kisses
December kisses,
My lips will always be dry without you on my lips;
But you are always there to wet my lips with your sweet love,
And like a sweet kiss from a red rose.
Within and in-between,
I am now addicted to your sweet love! !
And you are like the daughters of the land of roses.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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Sweet honey-sucking bees
Sweet honey-sucking bees, why do you still
surfeit on roses, pinks and violets,
as if the choicest nectar lay in them
wherewith you store your curious cabinets?
Ah, make your flight to Melisuavia's lips.
There may you revel in ambrosian cheer,
where smiling roses and sweet lilies sit,
Keeping their springtide graces all the year.
[Part 2:
Yet, sweet, take heed, all sweets are hard to get:
Sting not her soft lips, O, beware of that,
for if one flaming dart come from her eye,
was never dart so sharp, ah, then you die.
]
poem by John Wilbye
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Kisses
You've kissed a hundred girls by now
and never found the one
whose kisses taste like cherry wine
and warm you like the sun.
But when it is you touch my lips
and brush them soft and sweet,
You'll lay your life before me
and feel like you're complete.
For I, my love have saved my lips,
saved them just for you.
And now that you have felt them
there's nothing you can do.
You can't go back to other's lips.
They would not feel the same.
The bitter taste they'd leave you with
would have you then exclaim.
'I need your lips. I long for them
and how they make me feel.'
So when you place your lips on mine
you'll know our love is real.
poem by Edwina Reizer
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I fall, I fall
I fall, I fall, O stay me,
Dear love, with joys you slay me,
Of life your lips deprive me,
Sweet, let your lips revive me,
O whither are you hasting,
And leave my life thus wasting?
My health on you relying,
‘Twere sin to leave me dying.
poem by John Wilbye
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A Happy Landscape
waterfall on the cliff
white doves flying low
the plains grassy and
flowers blooming and
a brook runs beside
a shade of this big tree
where you and your
beloved are so close
his head resting on
your breast his hand
holding your hand as
you move your face
closer to kiss him and
his kisses you back
on the lips and you
gaze to this happy
landscape of peace
and quiet:
love fills the air,
and both of
you say the words
'i love you very much'
'i love you too....'
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Fuscara, or the Bee Errant ( excerpt)
o
"But oh! what waspe was't that could prove
Ravilliack to my Queen of Love?
The King of Bees now's jealous grown
Lest her beams should melt his throne…
Live-Hony all, the Envyous Elfe
Stung her, cause sweeter than himself.
Sweetness and she are so ally'd
The Bee committed parricide."
o
poem by John Cleveland
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