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A Coronet for his Mistress, Philosophy

Muses that sing love's sensual empery,
And lovers kindling your enraged fires
At Cupid's bonfires burning in the eye,
Blown with the empty breath of vain desires;
You that prefer the painted cabinet
Before the wealthy jewels it doth store ye,
That all your joys in dying figures set,
And stain the living substance of your glory;
Abjure those joys, abhor their memory,
And let my love the honour'd subject be
Of love, and honour's complete history.
Your eyes were never yet let in to see
The majesty and riches of the mind,
But dwell in darkness; for your god is blind.

poem by George Chapman
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And is love very strong where honour rules?

And is love very strong where honour rules?
Would the world ever speak of Lancelot's love
Or Tristram's love had they put honour first?
What would you think if Guinevere had knelt
And begged for kisses and had begged in vain?
Should she be constant had she been refused
Or would she laugh and turn to love elsewhere?
But Joseph is a hero nowadays
And young Paolo, the Italian blood,
Rather too rash and uncontrollable.
Lovers who are not free should sigh and part—
Lovers, you call them—and not free to love:
They may be wives or husbands, businessmen,
Saints even: they're not lovers. After all
I'd rather be a lover than a saint.

poem by Lesbia Harford
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Extinguish

Extinguish the lamp of love and,
Let us sleep together on this bed of roses;
For you have distinguished yourself among others,
And i will praise you with my riches and honour always.
The pleasantness and the peace of my love is for you only,
So embrace me with your love that muses;
Fo i need a sound wisdom and discretion on this love,
Because my love is like the beautiful ornament on your neck!

poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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Sonnet 42: Oh Eyes, Which Do The Spheres

Oh eyes, which do the spheres of beauty move,
Whose beams be joys, whose joys all virtues be,
Who while they make Love conquer, conquer Love,
The schools where Venus hath learn'd chastity;

Oh eyes, whose humble looks most glorious prove,
Only lov'd tyrants, just in cruelty,
Do not, oh do not from poor me remove,
Keep still my zenith, ever shine on me.

For though I never see them, but straightways
My life forgets to nourish languish'd sprites;
Yet still on me, oh eyes, dart down your rays:

And if from majesty of sacred lights,
Oppressing mortal sense, my death proceed,
Wracks triumphs be, which Love (high set) doth breed.

poem by Philip Sidney
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Hymn to Love

We are thine, O Love, being in thee and made of thee,
As théou, Léove, were the déep thought
And we the speech of the thought; yea, spoken are we,
Thy fires of thought out-spoken:

But burn’d not through us thy imagining
Like fiérce méood in a séong céaught,
We were as clamour’d words a fool may fling,
Loose words, of meaning broken.

For what more like the brainless speech of a fool,—
The lives travelling dark fears,
And as a boy throws pebbles in a pool
Thrown down abysmal places?

Hazardous are the stars, yet is our birth
And our journeying time theirs;
As words of air, life makes of starry earth
Sweet soul-delighted faces;

As voices are we in the worldly wind;
The great wind of the world’s fate
Is turn’d, as air to a shapen sound, to mind
And marvellous desires.

But not in the world as voices storm-shatter’d,
Not borne down by the wind’s weight;
The rushing time rings with our splendid word
Like darkness fill’d with fires.

For Love doth use us for a sound of song,
And Love’s meaning our life wields,
Making our souls like syllables to throng
His tunes of exultation.

Down the blind speed of a fatal world we fly,
As rain blown along earth’s fields;
Yet are we god-desiring liturgy,
Sung joys of adoration;

Yea, made of chance and all a labouring strife,
We go charged with a strong flame;
For as a language Love hath seized on life
His burning heart to story.

Yea, Love, we are thine, the liturgy of thee,
Thy thought’s golden and glad name,
The mortal conscience of immortal glee,
Love’s zeal in Love’s own glory.

poem by Lascelles Abercrombie
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Love Increased By Suffering

'I love the Lord,' is still the strain
This heart delights to sing:
But I reply--your thoughts are vain,
Perhaps 'tis no such thing.

Before the power of love divine
Creation fades away;
Till only God is seen to shine
In all that we survey.

In gulfs of awful night we find
The God of our desires;
'Tis there he stamps the yielding mind,
And doubles all its fires.

Flames of encircling love invest,
And pierce it sweetly through;
'Tis filled with sacred joy, yet pressed
With sacred sorrow too.

Ah love! my heart is in the right--
Amidst a thousand woes,
To thee, its ever new delight,
And all its peace it owes.

Fresh causes of distress occur
Where'er I look or move;
The comforts I to all prefer
Are solitude and love.

Nor exile I nor prison fear;
Love makes my courage great;
I find a Saviour every where,
His grace in every state.

Nor castle walls, nor dungeons deep,
Exclude his quickening beams;
There I can sit, and sing, and weep,
And dwell on heavenly themes.

There sorrow, for his sake, is found
A joy beyond compare;
There no presumptuous thoughts abound,
No pride can enter there.

A Saviour doubles all my joys,
And sweetens all my pains,
His strength in my defence employs,
Consoles me and sustains.

I fear no ill, resent no wrong;
Nor feel a passion move,
When malice whets her slanderous tongue;
Such patience is in love.

poem by William Cowper
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Against Love

*

Hence Cupid! with your cheating toys,
Your real griefs, and painted joys,
Your pleasure which itself destroys.
Lovers like men in fevers burn and rave,
And only what will injure them do crave.
Men's weakness makes love so severe,
They give him power by their fear,
And make the shackles which they wear.
Who to another does his heart submit,
Makes his own idol, and then worships it.
Him whose heart is all his own,
Peace and liberty does crown,
He apprehends no killing frown.
He feels no raptures which are joys diseased,
And is not much transported, but still pleased.

*

poem by Katherine Philips
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Delia: XXXI (1592 version): Look, Delia, how we 'steem the

XXXI (

version)
Look, Delia, how we 'steem the half-blown rose,
The image of thy blush and summer's honour,
Whilst in her tender green she doth enclose
That pure sweet beauty time bestows upon her.
No sooner spreads her glory in the air
But straight her full-blown pride is in declining;
She then is scorn'd that late adorn'd the fair:
So clouds thy beauty after fairest shining.
No April can revive thy wither'd flowers,
Whose blooming grace adorns thy beauty now;
Swift speedy time, feather'd with flying hours,
Dissolves the beauty of the fairest brow.
O let not then such riches waste in vain,
But love whilst that thou mayst be lov'd again.

poem by Samuel Daniel
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All The Wrongs

No really
Literally
I think I love you
You make me so excited too
When I'm around you I just want to sing, sing love songs
But I can't help but consider all the wrongs

I don't know if I love you, girl I don't know what love is
When I look at myself I'm disgusted 'why would anyone be his? '
Aren't you? even if not, if you saw what I see
Wouldn't you hate me?
I don't understand, I don't want to talk to me...but you do
It almost seems like you care too
I'm just not good enough for you, this is all I got
Just not

But there's so much more
Yes there's a lot of me to abhor
But I'm also not ready
I just cant handle being in a relationship,
I'm not even comfortable being me
I can't even get a grip

But there's so much more
Yes there's a lot of me to abhor
But also what about faith
Do you believe what I do?
Can I have fellowship with you?
What about the deepest relationship of all
We have to share that or we'll just fall
Even if you do, I bet I can guarantee
The problem again is me
I'm not ready, we'd be unequally yoked, because I'm well, I'm me.

But there's so much more
Yes, there's a lot of me to abhor
I don't want you to love me
I desire your love more than I desire life
And yet I want YOUR life to be rife
With happiness and true love, can't you see
Since I love you I don't want you to love me
Since I love you I want someone else for you
Since I love you I want what's best for you too
That's not me
So Since I love you (or so I convince myself) don't love me.

But there's so much more
Yes, there's a lot of me to abhor
But also lust
Maybe it's excitement, maybe it's really sinful, sorry to disgust
You, but I desire you
In a bad way too
Not often, and surely this is why I hate myself
But there are times when I allow these desires just to engulf
Me, they take over, and so your looks get in the way
Because you're gorgeous, but I want to love for who you really are
Can I really do that? With my scar?
I want to really love you I say...
Really, I want to love, I don't want this lust, I can't separate the two
I'm sorry, I don't know if I could ever make it up to you
I'm sorry, so sorry for the lust
I'm sorry, so sorry, sorry for me.

poem by David Knox
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To love again and remember

To love again and remember
~
To love again and remember
The joys of a youthful laugh
The whispered words of lovers
The giggles and private jokes
Each kiss stolen when possible
A smile as you say beautiful
The curl of the lips raises up
What little joys remain kept
The touch of another’s hand
Holding tightly not letting go
To be in love again and remember
Every little private pleasure
In the heart which is singing
All the joys of being in love
Aloud and in secret it is clear
How happy it is to remember
The joys of a youthful laugh
Private jokes and kisses stolen
Smiling through whispered words
Eyes looking into each other
Oh to love again and remember

poem by Matthew Holloway
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Elegy X: The Dream

Image of her whom I love, more than she,
Whose fair impression in my faithful heart
Makes me her medal, and makes her love me,
As Kings do coins, to which their stamps impart
The value: go, and take my heart from hence,
Which now is grown too great and good for me:
Honours oppress weak spirits, and our sense
Strong objects dull; the more, the less we see.

When you are gone, and Reason gone with you,
Then Fantasy is queen and soul, and all;
She can present joys meaner than you do;
Convenient, and more proportional.
So, if I dream I have you, I have you,
For, all our joys are but fantastical.
And so I 'scape the pain, for pain is true;
And sleep which locks up sense, doth lock out all.

After a such fruition I shall wake,
And, but the waking, nothing shall repent;
And shall to love more thankful sonnets make
Than if more honour, tears, and pains were spent.
But dearest heart, and dearer image, stay;
Alas, true joys at best are dream enough;
Though you stay here you pass too fast away:
For even at first life's taper is a snuff.

Filied with her love, may I be rather grown
Mad with much heart, than idiot with none.

poem by John Donne
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Helena: Love looks not with the eyes but with the mind.
And therefore is winged Cupid painted blind.
Nor hath Love's mind of any judgment taste —
Wings and no eyes figure unheedy haste.
And therefore is Love said to be a child,
Because in choice he is so oft beguiled.

line from A Midsummer Night's Dream, Act I, Scene 1, script by William Shakespeare (1596)
Submitted by Dan Costinaş
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Licia Sonnets 05

Love with her hair my love by force hath tied,
To serve her lips, her eyes, her voice, her hand;
I smiled for joy, when I the boy espied
To lie unchained and live at her command.
She if she look, or kiss, or sing, or smile,
Cupid withal doth smile, doth sing, doth kiss,
Lips, hands, voice, eyes, all hearts that may beguile,
Because she scorns all hearts but only this.
Venus for this in pride began to frown
That Cupid, born a god, enthralled should be.
She in disdain her pretty son threw down,
And in his place, with love she chainéd me.
So now, sweet love, though I myself be thrall,
Not her a goddess, but thyself I call.

poem by Giles Fletcher The Elder
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A Woman's Honour

Love bade me hope, and I obeyed;
Phyllis continued still unkind:
Then you may e'en despair, he said,
In vain I strive to change her mind.

Honour's got in, and keeps her heart,
Durst he but venture once abroad,
In my own right I'd take your part,
And show myself the mightier God.

This huffing Honour domineers
In breasts alone where he has place:
But if true generous Love apppears,
The hector dares not show his face.

Let me still languish and complain,
Be most unhumanly denied:
I have some pleasure in my pain,
She can have none with all her pride.

I fall a sacrifice to Love,
She lives a wretch for Honour's sake;
Whose tyrant does most cruel prove,
The difference is not hard to make.

Consider real Honour then,
You'll find hers cannot be the same;
'Tis noble confidence in men,
In women, mean, mistrustful shame.

poem by Lord John Wilmot
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He That Loves A Rosy Cheek

He that loves a rosy cheek,
Or a coral lip admires,
Or from star-like eyes doth seek
Fuel to maintain his fires:
As old Time makes these decay,
So his flames must waste away.

But a smooth and steadfast mind,
Gentle thoughts, and calm desires,
Hearts with equal love combined,
Kindle never-dying fires:
Where these are not, I despise
Lovely cheeks or lips or eyes.

poem by Thomas Carew
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Honour Life

honour life
honour people loved
while they are here

rather than mourn
when they are gone
when it is too late

show a little sincere appreciation
for family friends life loved
saving you from empty alienation

appreciate gift love time
subtle small gifts divine
memories shine through time

to love appreciate fully now
seems a far better rational response
than to regret at fatal final hour

honour life
honour life
while it is here

poem by Terence George Craddock
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Weary Of The World, And With Heaven Most Dear

Farewell, world, farewell
As thrall here I’m weary and no more will dwell,
The manifold burdens that on me have lain,
I wrest them now from me and do them disdain,
I wrench myself free, though am wearied withal:
’Tis vanity all,
’Tis vanity all.

And what everywhere
Does this world embellish with visage so fair?
’Tis all merely shadows and baubles of glass,
’Tis all merely bubbles and clattering brass,
’Tis all but thin ice, filth and mischief withal:
’Tis vanity all,
’Tis vanity all.

My years what are they?
That furtively dwindle and sidle away?
And what are my worries? My thought-troubled mind?
My joy or my sorrow? My fancies so blind?
And what do my work, moil and toil all recall?
’Tis vanity all,
’Tis vanity all.

Oh riches and gold,
You false earthly idol so bright to behold,
You are though among the deceits the world brings
That wax, wane and alter with all other things.
You are but vain glory whate’er may befall:
’Tis vanity all,
’Tis vanity all.

Ah, honour – ’tis what?
Your crowns and your laurels proclaim what you’re not,
And envy consumes you and sits on your back,
You lack peace of mind and are prone to attack!
You stumble where others contrive not to fall:
’Tis vanity all,
’Tis vanity all.

Ah, favour and grace
That mist-like enfold us, are gone without trace.
You fickle infl ator that puffs up the mind,
You thousand-eyed creature that e’en so are blind,
When viewed ’gainst the sun one can see that you pall:
’Tis vanity all,
’Tis vanity all.

Ah, friendship and trust,
That veers vanes to happiness with every gust!
You handsome deceiver, you fortunate pup,
That fails us so often in sorrow’s deep cup
You say what experience has us recall:
’Tis vanity all,
’Tis vanity all.

Ah, joys of the flesh
That many have fatally snared in their mesh,
You quick-burning tinder, you spark on the wind,
Have sown flames eternal for those that have sinned,
Your cup seems like honey, the drink though is gall:
’Tis vanity all,
’Tis vanity all.

Farewell, then, farewell
No more your deceits shall my soul now compel,
Oh world of delusion, I now you dismiss,
Consign to oblivion’s deepest abyss,
My grief and affliction no more me shall chafe:
With Abraham safe,
With Abraham safe.

There all of my years
Will start in eternity’s spring without tears,
My days will not dawn with the rise of the sun,
Nor moon’s wax or wane tell when night has begun,
My sun is Lord Jesus with rays like gold staves:
With Abraham safe,
With Abraham safe.

My riches and gold
Will always be mine both to have and to hold,
No robber can ever deprive me of them,
No bartering cause me to part with one gem,
I never will find myself left as a waif:
With Abraham safe,
With Abraham safe.

My honour is won
From that throne my Jesus is sitting upon,
A crown filled with glory for me is in store,
With blood of the lamb it is gilt ever more,
’Tis mine though the devil me gladly would strafe:
With Abraham safe,
With Abraham safe.

With grace I will shine
As one of the angelic host so divine,
No envious eye shall my face ever see,
God’s countenance gaze ever-smiling on me,
There will I pour scorn on death’s envious grave:
With Abraham safe,
With Abraham safe.

There I have a friend,
My Jesus who loves me I love without end,
My eye will regard him unclouded and fair,
The heavenly torch of his love proffered there,
In spirit Love’s blaze I eternal may crave:
With Abraham safe,
With Abraham safe.

My rapture and joy
Are quickened when angels their trumpets employ,
But God is all joy both for me and their kind!
Rejoice then, my soul, all the world leave behind!
Mind well on your heart God his joy will engrave:
With Abraham safe,
With Abraham safe.

poem by Thomas Kingo
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A New Pilgrimage: Sonnet XXVIII

Yet it is pitiful how friendships die,
Spite of our oaths eternal and high vows.
Some fall through blight of tongues wagged secretly,
Some through strifes loud in empty honour's house.
Some vanish with fame got too glorious,
And rapt to heaven in fiery chariots fly;
And some are drowned in sloth and the carouse
Of wedded joys and long love's tyranny.
O ye, who with high--hearted valliance
Deem truth eternal and youth's dreams divine,
Keep ye from love and fame and the mischance
Of other worship than the Muses nine.
So haply shall you tread life's latest strand
With a true brother still, and hand in hand.

poem by Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
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Bored And Sad

It's boring and sad, and there's no one around
In times of my spirit's travail...
Desires!...What use is our vain and eternal desire?..
While years pass on by - all the best years!

To love...but love whom?.. a short love is vexing,
And permanent love's just a myth.
Perhaps look within? - The past's left no trace:
All trivial, joys and distress...

What good are the passions? For sooner or later
Their sweet sickness ends when reason speaks up;
And life, if surveyed with cold-blooded regard,-
Is stupid and empty - a joke...

poem by Mikhail Yuryevich Lermontov
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Love In Vain

Long night, too long and lonely
Laying there asking myself
Hey, what's going on with you and me
How could I be so unaware
So blind I could not see
Knowing you'd be there
And always would be
Is anyone to blame but me
I've been so concerned with myself
Now I need you desperately
If you've fallen for another
Let's be honest with each other
Is there still a chance
And maybe hope to save our romance
We can't be strangers
You mean too much to me
I won't let this be a love in vain
Don't want the loneliness
Of just a memory
I don't want a love in vain
Just one more night, I want to spend with you
We'll let our hearts do the talking
Like we used to do
We'll make our first kiss last forever
Put the pieces back together
'Cause there's still a chance
There may be hope to save our romance
We can't be strangers
You mean to much to me
I won't let this be a love in vain, don't want a love in vain
I don't want the loneliness
Of just a memory
Don't want a love in vain
Oh, woman look what you've done to me
I'll show you how this love should be
Don't let it be a love in vain
Please don't, don't you know
You got my heart on a string
Don't let go
Don't let this love be a love in vain
We can't be strangers
It's not our destiny
I won't let this be a love in vain, don't want a love in vain
Don't want the loneliness
Of just a memory
Don't let this be a love in vain

song performed by by Foreigner
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Go Where Glory Waits Thee

Go where glory waits thee,
But while fame elates thee,
Oh! still remember me.
When the praise thou meetest
To thine ear is sweetest,
Oh! then remember me.
Other arms may press thee,
Dearer friends caress thee,
All the joys that bless thee,
Sweeter far may be;
But when friends are nearest,
And when joys are dearest,
Oh! then remember me!

When, at eve, thou rovest
By the star thou lovest,
Oh! then remember me.
Think, when home returning,
Bright we've seen it burning,
Oh! thus remember me.
Oft as summer closes,
When thine eye reposes
On its lingering roses,
Once so loved by thee,
Think of her who wove them,
Her who made thee love them,
Oh! then remember me.

When, around thee dying,
Autumn leaves are lying,
Oh! then remember me.
And, at night, when gazing
On the gay hearth blazing,
Oh! still remember me.
Then should music, stealing
All the soul of feeling,
To thy heart appealing,
Draw one tear from thee;
Then let memory bring thee
Strains I used to sing thee, --
Oh! then remember me.

poem by Thomas Moore
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