Fontinella To Florinda
When on my bosom thy bright eyes,
Florinda, dart their heavenly beams,
I feel not the least love surprise,
Yet endless tears flow down in streams;
There's nought so beautiful in thee,
But you may find the same in me.
The lilies of thy skin compare;
In me you see them full as white:
The roses of your cheeks, I dare
Affirm, can't glow to more delight.
Then, since I show as fine a face,
Can you refuse a soft embrace?
Ah! lovely nymph, thou'rt in thy prime!
And so am I, while thou art here;
But soon will come the fatal time,
When all we see shall disappear.
'Tis mine to make a just reflection,
And yours to follow my direction.
Then catch admirers while you may;
Treat not your lovers with disdain;
For time with beauty flies away,
And there is no return again.
To you the sad account I bring,
Life's autumn has no second spring.
poem by Jonathan Swift
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Related quotes
The Spring Has
Spring has lovely means to bring
All birds together with cuckoo to sing
Not by poor along but also king
To feel about change around the ring
Young veins allow and open to flow
For fresh blood to speed fast and show
Its real color for nature's love
Trust it more and strongly believer
It is time for changing old cloth
We it is nice time for both
To breathe and stay together
To be called innocent and passionate lover
It is in fact a lesson
For various reasons
If natures adopts change
We should look forward and manage
Love is to be made exception
It has no reason to feel for relation
It is same in autumn or monsoon
But spring may make it possible soon
What a way to observe and watch?
To get lost in moment to catch
Move around in hand to hand
Not to make others to feel jealous about friend
Moon is the only witness
Where lovers find their true face
No way to get lost over in any case
As it seems to be the only race
Silver light hunts around
Make all surrounding silvery to be found
Not only beautiful land but trees too shine
Make it superfluous to feel fine
I close the eyes when go near
Just lower the lips without any fear
It makes soul to feel and bear
The closeness to feel with few tears
It shall be endeavor of both souls
To seek solace and warmth not to commit fails
It is one of the memorable moments
To feel and make other to feel as heavenly sent
It may soon slip over to autumn
Many lovers may think bad and condemn
Yet it is change and time to settle down
To know each other and own
poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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Eros
Why hast thou nothing in thy face?
Thou idol of the human race,
Thou tyrant of the human heart,
The flower of lovely youth that art;
Yea, and that standest in thy youth
An image of eternal Truth,
With thy exuberant flesh so fair,
That only Pheidias might compare,
Ere from his chaste marmoreal form
Time had decayed the colours warm;
Like to his gods in thy proud dress,
Thy starry sheen of nakedness.
Surely thy body is thy mind,
For in thy face is nought to find,
Only thy soft unchristen’d smile,
That shadows neither love nor guile,
But shameless will and power immense,
In secret sensuous innocence.
O king of joy, what is thy thought?
I dream thou knowest it is nought,
And wouldst in darkness come, but thou
Makest the light where’er thou go.
Ah yet no victim of thy grace,
None who e’er long’d for thy embrace,
Hath cared to look upon thy face.
poem by Robert Seymour Bridges
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The Image
When a wild grace I see,
A turn o' the neck, a curl, sweet hands, clear eyes,
Gentleness, courtesy, dignity;
In all these gifts Thee I surmise, surprise.
All beauty and delight.
Skin like a rose, a beauteous shape, an air
Free and enchanting, give my weary sight
Glimpses of Thee, Thou Beauty past compare.
Strength, courage also are Thine.
And joy of youth and wings that cleave the blue,
Low singing and soft voices, I divine
In these Thy beauty ancient yet ever new.
Oh, when my startled eye
Perceives this beauty league-long, sea and isle
And eagle-crested mountains wild and high,
I catch Thy Maker's thought -- I see Thy smile.
Some mirror out of range
Flashes reflex of Heaven on this sweet earth,
Brooding for ever, beautiful, without change,
The blue-bell sea, the thousand streams' soft mirth.
All beauty is of Thee.
Kindness and quietness, moon and stars and sun,
Gardens and woods, the bird in the new-fledged tree
And sleep, O Kindest One!
poem by Katharine Tynan
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Presence
ALL things give token of thee!
As soon as the bright sun is shining,
Thou too wilt follow, I trust.
When in the garden thou walk'st,
Thou then art the rose of all roses,
Lily of lilies as well.
When thou dost move in the dance,
Then each constellation moves also;
With thee and round thee they move.
Night! oh, what bliss were the night!
For then thou o'ershadow'st the lustre,
Dazzling and fair, of the moon.
Dazzling and beauteous art thou,
And flowers, and moon, and the planets
Homage pay, Sun, but to thee.
Sun! to me also be thou
Creator of days bright and glorious;
Life and Eternity this!
poem by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
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Ch 05 On Love And Youth Story 10
In the exuberance of youth, as it usually happens and as thou knowest, I was on the closest terms of intimacy with a sweetheart who had a melodious voice and a form beautiful like the moon just rising.
He, the down of whose cheek drinks the water of immortality,
Whoever looks at his sugar lips eats sweetmeats.
I happened to notice something in his behaviour which was contrary to nature and not approved of by me. Accordingly I gathered up my skirt from him and, picking up the pieces of the chess-game of friendship, recited:
‘Go and do as thou listest.
Thou hast not our head; follow thine.’
I heard him saying when he went away:
‘If the bat desires not union with the sun
The beauty of the sun will not decrease.’
Saying this, he departed and his distress took effect on me:
I lost the time of union and man is ignorant
Of the value of delightful life before adversity.
Return. Slay me. For to die in thy presence
Is more sweet than to live after thee.
Thanks be to the bounty of God, he returned some time afterwards but his melodious voice had changed, his Joseph like beauty had faded, on the apple of his skin dust had settled as upon a quince so that the splendour of his beauty had departed. He wanted me to embrace him. I complied and said:
‘On the day when thou hadst a beauteous incipient beard
Thou drovest him, who desired the sight, from thy sight.
Today thou camest to make peace with him
But hast exhibited Fathah and Zammah.
His fresh spring is gone and he has become yellow.
Bring not the kettle because our fire is extinguished.
How long wilt thou strut about, showing arrogance,
Imagining felicity which has elapsed?
Go to him who will purchase thee.
Coquet with him who asks for thee.
They said: “Verdure in the garden is pleasing.”
He knows it who utters these words.
Namely, heartfelt affection for that green line
Fascinates the hearts of lovers more and more.
Thy garden is a bed of leeks.
The more thou weedest it the more they grow.
Whether thou pluckest out thy beard or not
This happiness of youthful days must end.
Had I the power of life as thou of the beard
I would not let it end till resurrection-day.
I asked and said: What has befallen the beauty of thy face
That ants are crawling round the moon?
He replied, smiling: “I know not what is the matter with my face.
Perhaps it wears black as mourning for my beauty.”’
Preparatory Meditations - Second Series: 12
(Ezekiel 37:24. David my Servant shall be their King)
Dull, dull indeed! What, shall it e'er be thus?
And why? Are not Thy promises, my Lord,
Rich, quick'ning things? How should my full cheeks blush
To find me thus? And those a lifeless word?
My heart is heedless: unconcerned hereat:
I find my spirits spiritless and flat.
Thou court'st mine eyes in sparkling colors bright,
Most bright indeed, and soul-enamouring,
With the most shining sun, whose beams did smite
Me with delightful smiles to make me spring.
Embellished knots of love assault my mind,
Which still is dull, as if this sun n'er shined.
David in all his gallantry now comes,
Bringing, to tend Thy shrine, his royal glory,
Rich prowess, prudence, victories, sweet songs,
And piety to pencil out Thy story;
To draw my heart to Thee in this brave shine
Of typic beams, most warm. But still I pine.
Shall not this lovely beauty, Lord, set out
In dazzling shining flashes 'fore mine eye,
Enchant my heart, love's golden mine, till 't spout
Out streams of love refin'd that on Thee lie?
Thy glory's great: Thou David's kingdom shalt
Enjoy for aye. I want and that's my fault.
Spare me, my Lord, spare me, I greatly pray,
Let me Thy gold pass through Thy fire until
Thy fire refine, and take my filth away.
That I may shine like gold, and have my fill
Of love for Thee; until my virginal
Chime out in changes sweet Thy praises shall.
Wipe off my rust, Lord, with Thy wisp me scour,
And make Thy beams perch on my strings their blaze.
My tunes clothe with Thy shine, and quavers pour
My cursing strings on, loaded with Thy praise.
My fervant love with music in her hand,
Shall then attend Thyself, and Thy command.
poem by Edward Taylor
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The Grief Of Love
Love, I am sick for thee, sick with an absolute grief,
Sick with the thought of thy eyes and lips and bosom.
All the beauty I saw, I see to my hurt revealed.
All that I felt I feel to--day for my pain and sorrow.
Love, I would fain forget thee, hide thee in deeper night,
Shut thee where no thought is, in the grave with tears.
Love, I would turn my face to the wall and, if needs be, die;
Death less cruel were than thy eyes which have blinded me.
Since thou art gone from me, glory is gone from my life;
Dumb are the woods and streams, and dumb the voice of my soul;
Dead are the flowers we loved, blackened and sere with blight;
Earth is frost--bound under my foot where our footsteps trod.
Give me back for my sorrow the days of senseless peace,
Days when I thought not of thee, or thought in wisdom;
Let me see thee once more as thou to my folly wert,
A woman senseless as sounding brass or as tinkling cymbal.
Why didst thou show me thy heart, which I thought not of?
Why didst thou bare me thy soul, who to me wert soulless?
Why didst thou kiss my mouth, when my mouth did mock?
Why didst thou speak to my lips of love, ere my lips had spoken?
Love, thou hast made me thine, thine, and in my despite,
Laying thy hand on my heart in the soft Spring weather;
Love, thou hast bought my soul at a price, the price of thine,
Never again to mock at love, ah, never, never!
poem by Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
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The Looks Of A Lover Enamoured
THOU, with thy looks, on whom I look full oft,
And find therein great cause of deep delight,
Thy face is fair, thy skin is smooth and soft,
Thy lips are sweet, thine eyes are clear and bright,
And every part seems pleasant in my sight;
Yet wote thou well, those looks have wrought my woe,
Because I love to look upon them so.
For first those looks allured mine eye to look,
And straight mine eye stirred up my heart to love;
And cruel love, with deep deceitful hook,
Choked up my mind, whom fancy cannot move,
Nor hope relieve, nor other help behoove
But still to look; and though I look too much,
Needs must I look because I see none such.
Thus in thy looks my love and life have hold;
And with such life my death draws on apace:
And for such death no med'cine can be told
But looking still upon thy lovely face,
Wherein are painted pity, peace, and grace.
Then though thy looks should cause me for to die,
Needs must I look, because I live thereby.
Since then thy looks my life have so in thrall
As I can like none other looks but thine,
Lo, here I yield my life, my love, and all
Into thy hands, and all things else resign
But liberty to gaze upon thine eyen:
Which when I do, then think it were thy part
To look again, and link with me in heart.
poem by George Gascoigne
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Why dost thou Shade thy Lovely Face?
1 Why dost thou shade thy lovely face? Oh, why
2 Does that eclipsing hand so long deny
3 The sunshine of thy soul-enliv'ning eye?
4 Without that light, what light remains in me?
5 Thou art my life, my way, my light; in thee
6 I live, I move, and by thy beams I see.
7 Thou art mv life; if thou but turn away
8 My life's a thousand deaths: thou art my way;
9 Without thee, Lord, I travel not, but stray.
10 My light thou art; without thy glorious sight
11 Mine eyes are darken'd with perpetual night.
12 My God, thou art my way, my life, my light.
13 Thou art my way; I wander if thou fly:
14 Thou art my light; if hid, how blind am I!
15 Thou art my life; if thou withdraw, I die.
16 Mine eyes are blind and dark, I cannot see;
17 To whom or whither should my darkness flee,
18 But to the light? and who's that light but thee?
19 My path is lost, my wand'ring steps do stray;
20 I cannot safely go, nor safely stay;
21 Whom should I seek but thee, my path, my way?
22 Oh, I am dead: to whom shall I, poor I,
23 Repair? to whom shall my sad ashes fly,
24 But life? and where is life but in thine eye?
25 And yet thou turn'st away thy face, and fly'st me;
26 And yet I sue for grace, and thou deny'st me;
27 Speak, art thou angry, Lord, or only try'st me?
28 Unscreen those heavenly lamps, or tell me why
29 Thou shad'st thy face; perhaps thou think'st no eye
30 Can view those flames, and not drop down and die.
31 If that be all, shine forth, and draw thee nigher;
32 Let me behold and die, for my desire
33 Is ph{oe}nix-like to perish in that fire.
34 Death-conquer'd Laz'rus was redeem'd by thee;
35 If I am dead, Lord, set death's prisoner free;
36 Am I more spent, or stink I worse than he?
37 If my puff'd life be out, give leave to tine
38 My shameless snuff at that bright lamp of thine;
39 Oh, what's thy light the less for lighting mine?
40 If I have lost my path, great Shepherd, say,
41 Shall I still wander in a doubtful way?
42 Lord, shall a lamb of Israel's sheep-fold stray?
43 Thou art the pilgrim's path, the blind man's eye,
44 The dead man's life; on thee my hopes rely;
45 If thou remove, I err, I grope, I die.
46 Disclose thy sunbeams; close thy wings, and stay;
47 See, see how I am blind, and dead, and stray,
48 O thou, that art my light, my life, my way.
poem by Francis Quarles
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Corydon's Supplication To Phyllis
Sweet Phyllis, if a silly swain
May sue to thee for grace,
See not thy loving shepherd slain
With looking on thy face;
But think what power thou hast got
Upon my flock and me;
Thou seest they now regard me not,
But all do follow thee.
And if I have so far presumed,
With prying in thine eyes,
Yet let not comfort be consumed
That in thy pity lies;
But as thou art that Phyllis fair,
That fortune favour gives,
So let not love die in despair
That in thy favour lives.
The deer do browse upon the briar,
The birds do pick the cherries;
And will not Beauty grant Desire
One handful of her berries?
If it be so that thou hast sworn
That none shall look on thee,
Yet let me know thou dost not scorn
To cast a look on me.
But if thy beauty make thee proud,
Think then what is ordain'd;
The heavens have never yet allow'd
That love should be disdain'd.
Then lest the fates that favour love
Should curse thee for unkind,
Let me report for thy behoof,
The honour of thy mind;
Let Corydon with full consent
Set down what he hath seen,
That Phyllida with Love's content
Is sworn the shepherds' queen.
poem by Nicholas Breton
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Shall I Compare Thee to an Autumn Day
Shall I compare thee to an autumn day?
From the coolness of a breeze;
to the changing colors of the leaves.
Indeed you are more complex then either of these things.
Yet thou are just as beautiful as the season.
And as long as thou will allow me too
I shall love thee no matter what thou mood.
I just hope and pray thou allow me to love thee forever
Choriambics
Love, what ailed thee to leave life that was made lovely, we thought, with love?
What sweet visions of sleep lured thee away, down from the light above?
What strange faces of dreams, voices that called, hands that were raised to wave,
Lured or led thee, alas, out of the sun, down to the sunless grave?
Ah, thy luminous eyes! once was their light fed with the fire of day;
Now their shadowy lids cover them close, hush them and hide away.
Ah, thy snow-coloured hands! once were they chains, mighty to bind me fast;
Now no blood in them burns, mindless of love, senseless of passion past.
Ah, thy beautiful hair! so was it once braided for me, for me;
Now for death is it crowned, only for death, lover and lord of thee.
Sweet, the kisses of death set on thy lips, colder are they than mine;
Colder surely than past kisses that love poured for thy lips as wine.
Lov'st thou death? is his face fairer than love's, brighter to look upon?
Seest thou light in his eyes, light by which love's pales and is overshone?
Lo the roses of death, grey as the dust, chiller of leaf than snow!
Why let fall from thy hand love's that were thine, roses that loved thee so?
Large red lilies of love, sceptral and tall, lovely for eyes to see;
Thornless blossom of love, full of the sun, fruits that were reared for thee.
Now death's poppies alone circle thy hair, girdle thy breasts as white;
Bloodless blossoms of death, leaves that have sprung never against the light.
Nay then, sleep if thou wilt; love is content; what should he do to weep?
Sweet was love to thee once; now in thine eyes sweeter than love is sleep.
poem by Algernon Charles Swinburne
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In Memory of Walter Savage Landor
Back to the flower-town, side by side,
The bright months bring,
New-born, the bridegroom and the bride,
Freedom and spring.
The sweet land laughs from sea to sea,
Filled full of sun;
All things come back to her, being free;
All things but one.
In many a tender wheaten plot
Flowers that were dead
Live, and old suns revive; but not
That holier head.
By this white wandering waste of sea,
Far north, I hear
One face shall never turn to me
As once this year:
Shall never smile and turn and rest
On mine as there,
Nor one most sacred hand be prest
Upon my hair.
I came as one whose thoughts half linger,
Half run before;
The youngest to the oldest singer
That England bore.
I found him whom I shall not find
Till all grief end,
In holiest age our mightiest mind,
Father and friend.
But thou, if anything endure,
If hope there be,
O spirit that man's life left pure,
Man's death set free,
Not with disdain of days that were
Look earthward now;
Let dreams revive the reverend hair,
The imperial brow;
Come back in sleep, for in the life
Where thou art not
We find none like thee. Time and strife
And the world's lot
Move thee no more; but love at least
And reverent heart
May move thee, royal and released,
Soul, as thou art.
And thou, his Florence, to thy trust
Receive and keep,
Keep safe his dedicated dust,
His sacred sleep.
So shall thy lovers, come from far,
Mix with thy name
As morning-star with evening-star
His faultless fame.
poem by Algernon Charles Swinburne
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How Do I Know Thee 07
How does thou know me
How should I compare thee
Does thou remindest me of the sea
Do I compare thee with winter or spring
Should I sing thee a song of land and light
Nay, I shall contrive a sonnet of sky
The masses of stars and feathering clouds
The cleansing of rain and ferocity of thunder
Thy heart is vast, like no other
Thine eyes drink me as thy presence
Thy voice whispers like sirens
Calling mine eye to a mass of mystery
And mine soul to tenderness
Curious that the more I know
The more I need
How does thou know me
How do I know thee
poem by Kira Bloom
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Then and Now -A Stone Breaker
When first I saw thee breaking stones
My heart was filled with praise
And delight on a rose like face.
What heaving bosom and how did it nurse
The hopes of life and desires of youth
And how joyfully didst thou talk
Of life everlasting.
But now I am pained to see thee;
Is it thou same young lady?
So changed in so short a time!
These sunken eyes, these hollow looks
Are these the same that pierced my heart?
O stony stare, where is life?
Whither is hope fled?
These withered cheeks, these pale lips
No more betray the colour of a rose;
And this bosom which once did nurse
The hopes of life; the joys of youth:
To this bosom now clings a child,
A life! Oh no no no
It's misery nursing death.
One Rose
one rose for the day i met you
one rose for ever i loved you
50 roses today.you would be 50
i am 51 a rose is a simbol of love
compasion and most of all beauty
the most beautiful flower ever
but it couldent compare to my love for you
your eyes are as blue
as the sea.your cheeks tan from
the summers glow.the sight of you make my
face go red.you are gone but you will
never be forgotten my love for you
grows every day one rose at a time
poem by Sandra Geisell
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I cannot hear anything but mine own heart beat
I cannot hear anything but mine own heart beat
Thou art still the most beautiful lady I've ever seen
So elegant and refined, graceful and petite
Thou art effeminate in love with beauty serene
Thou define beauty with such eloquence and such charm
No time, no age, no season nor death did trace
Worn lines, wrinkles, sorrow and decay on thee
For by thy bosom love pulsates to thy immortal face
The poetry of flesh; the beauty thy flesh be
An ideal imagination that steams thy beauty fast
And whispers nature's secret's like the silver moon
And reveals beauty like the sun's light cast
And reflects love like profound emotions swoon
I can only hear my heart beat, as I fall and faint
For mine heart, thy beauty took and with thy face did paint…
poem by Kevin Michael Murphy
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SONNET. VVere thy heart soft as thou art faire
VVere thy heart soft as thou art faire,
Thou wer't a wonder past compare:
But frozen Love and fierce disdain
By their extremes thy graces stain.
Cold coyness quenches the still fires
Which glow in Lovers warm desires;
And scorn, like the quick Lightnings blaze,
Darts death against affections gaze.
O Heavens, what prodigy is this
When Love in Beauty buried is!
Or that dead pity thus should be
Tomb'd in a living cruelty.
poem by Henry King
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Sonnet 3
Look in thy glass and tell the face thou viewest
Now is the time that face should form another;
Whose fresh repair if now thou not renewest,
Thou dost beguile the world, unbless some mother.
For where is she so fair whose uneared womb
Disdains the tillage of thy husbandry?
Or who is he so fond will be the tomb
Of his self-love, to stop posterity?
Thou art thy mother's glass and she in thee
Calls back the lovely April of her prime;
So thou through windows of thine age shalt see,
Despite of wrinkles, this thy golden time.
But if thou live, remembered not to be,
Die single and thine image dies with thee.
poem by William Shakespeare from Sonnets (1609)
Submitted by Dan Costinaş
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To Atthis The Inconstant
Fragments 33, 57A, 44, 41, 70, 58 combined.
I loved thee, Atthis, — even thee! —
Ah, long ago!
As Aphrodite's handmaid bright
As gold wert thou then in my sight.
A very queen of love to me
Then didst thou show.
Fair gifts I sent thee — 'broidery
Of golden thread whose shimmering light
Flashed mid the purple on thy knee,
A gleam and glow.
Then I knew not thine heart aright:
But now I know!
Thou incarnate false inconstancy —
To whom I grow
A thing to hate! — thou takest flight
On wings of love to — who is she?
A rustic wench whose garments flow
About her heels ungracefully!
O yea, let thy false love requite
Andromeda's worship! Take delight
In her — thou who from my love's height
Hast sunk so low!