The Spring
Now that the winter's gone, the earth hath lost
Her snow-white robes, and now no more the frost
Candies the grass, or casts an icy cream
Upon the silver lake or crystal stream;
But the warm sun thaws the benumbed earth,
And makes it tender; gives a sacred birth
To the dead swallow; wakes in hollow tree
The drowsy cuckoo and the humble-bee.
Now do a choir of chirping minstrels bring
In triumph to the world the youthful spring.
The valleys, hills, and woods in rich array
Welcome the coming of the long'd-for May.
Now all things smile; only my love doth lour;
Nor hath the scalding noonday sun the power
To melt that marble ice, which still doth hold
Her heart congeal'd, and makes her pity cold.
The ox, which lately did for shelter fly
Into the stall, doth now securely lie
In open fields; and love no more is made
By the fireside, but in the cooler shade
Amyntas now doth with his Chloris sleep
Under a sycamore, and all things keep
Time with the season; only she doth carry
June in her eyes, in her heart January.
poem by Thomas Carew
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My Love in Her Attire
My Loue in her Attyre doth shew her witt,
It doth so well become her:
For eu'ry season she hath dressings fitt,
For Winter, Spring, and Summer.
No Beautie shee doth misse,
When all her Robes are on:
But Beauties selfe shee is,
When all her Robes are gone.
My Love in Her Attire
My Loue in her Attyre doth shew her witt,
It doth so well become her:
For eu'ry season she hath dressings fitt,
For Winter, Spring, and Summer.
No Beautie shee doth misse,
When all her Robes are on:
But Beauties selfe shee is,
When all her Robes are gone.
poem by Anonymous Americas
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My Love In Her Attire
My Loue in her Attyre doth shew her witt,
It doth so well become her:
For eu'ry season she hath dressings fitt,
For Winter, Spring, and Summer.
No Beautie shee doth misse,
When all her Robes are on:
But Beauties selfe shee is,
When all her Robes are gone.
poem by Anonymous Olde English
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Madrigal, Davison's Poetical Rhapsody
MY Love in her attire doth show her wit,
It doth so well become her;
For every season she hath dressings fit,
For Winter, Spring, and Summer.
No beauty she doth miss
When all her robes are on:
But Beauty's self she is
When all her robes are gone.
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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Sonnet 37: My Mouth Doth Water
My mouth doth water, and my breast doth swell,
My tongue doth itch, my thoughts in labor be:
Listen then, lordings, with good ear to me,
For of my life I must a riddle tell.
Toward Aurora's court a nymph doth dwell,
Rich in all beauties which man's eye can see:
Beauties so far from reach of words, that we
Abase her praise, saying she doth excel:
Rich in the treasure of deserv'd renown,
Rich in the riches of a royal heart,
Rich in those gifts which give th'eternal crown;
Who though most rich in these and every part,
Which make the patents of true worldly bliss,
Hath no misfortune, but that Rich she is.
poem by Philip Sidney
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Upon The Skilfull Player Of An Instrument
He that can play well on an instrument,
Will take the ear, and captivate the mind
With mirth or sadness; for that it is bent
Thereto, as music in it place doth find.
But if one hears that hath therein no skill,
(As often music lights of such a chance)
Of its brave notes they soon be weary will:
And there are some can neither sing nor dance.
Comparison.
Unto him that thus skilfully doth play,
God doth compare a gospel-minister,
That rightly preacheth, and doth godly pray,
Applying truly what doth thence infer.
This man, whether of wrath or grace he preach,
So skilfully doth handle every word;
And by his saying doth the heart so reach,
That it doth joy or sigh before the Lord.
But some there be, which, as the brute, doth lie
Under the Word, without the least advance
Godward; such do despise the ministry;
They weep not at it, neither to it dance.
poem by John Bunyan
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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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Obedience
Trust him in the common light;
Trust him in the awesome night;
Trust him when the earth doth quake:
Trust him when thy heart doth ache;
Trust him when thy brain doth reel
And thy friend turns on his heel;
Trust him when the way is rough,
Cry not yet,
It is enough
!
But obey with true endeavour,
Else the salt hath lost his savour.
poem by George MacDonald
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The World Around the Child Doth Learn
The world around the child doth learn
Whilst low below the beast doth worm.
The child doth know not of the Earth.
The worm knows nothing of its birth.
The river flows a mighty flow
Knowing all the river knows
Shiver sorrow – Sleep in woe
Keep sane until the morrow.
The world around the child doth turn
Whilst low below the beast doth burn.
Learning sorrow – Yearning desire
Leaves him warm beside the fire.
Happy is he to conspire.
So happy is he to respire.
poem by David Lacey
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The Wind of Spring
Hark! The wind of spring hath come
The hansom pulled by the vernal angel
Hath made its way through the wrath of tempest
With the fallen squall and Mother Petal
He leads the wake of the seeds asleep
And hums an elegy for the knell of woebegone days
He brings to blooms the verdure from deep
And lets the laurels wreathe the blemished ways
‘New day, new hope; new wind of scope’ –
Doth he whisper as he blows behind every ear
He sings a lullaby over the cove
And lulls the earth’s scullery near
As the scorching rays shall arrive in clover
He now makes merry under every roof he enters
His blow casts the huddled bushes with blossoms
Sensing his accent shall every lip widen
O wind of spring! Thou art the spirit of the immortal
No missive of thine is misspelled as thou pronounce
For thy blow doth push open a new portal
A new beginning doth thy breath announce.
poem by Fiona Sunny
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Licia Sonnets 46
If he be dead, in whom no heart remains,
Or lifeless be in whom no life is found;
If he do pine that never comfort gains,
And be distressed that hath his deadly wound;
Then must I die whose heart elsewhere is clad,
And lifeless pass the greedy worms to feed;
Then must I pine that never comfort had,
And be distressed whose wound with tears doth bleed.
Which if I do, why do I not wax cold?
Why rest I not like one that wants a heart?
Why move I still like him that life doth hold,
And sense enjoy both of my joy and smart?
Like Niobe queen which made a stone did weep,
Licia my heart dead and alive doth keep
poem by Giles Fletcher The Elder
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Sonnet L: Beauty, Sweet Love
Beauty, sweet love, is like the morning dew
Whose short refresh upon the tender green
Cheers for a time but till the Sun doth show,
And straight 'tis gone as it had never been.
Soon doth it fade that makes the fairest flourish;
Short is the glory of the blushing Rose,
The hue which thou so carefully dost nourish
Yet which at length thou must be forc'd to lose.
When thou surcharg'd with burden of thy years
Shalt bend thy wrinkles homeward to the earth,
When Time hath made a passport for thy fears,
Dated in age the Kalends of our death--
But, ah, no more: this hath been often told,
And women grieve to think they must be old.
poem by Samuel Daniel
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My Beloved's Ardor
One day, not so long since passed, I heard those words, three-
I knew then and there, I had gained my beloved's ardor, truly!
It is I that she doth adore, she did share with me, the same;
As my heart surely hath been thieved-so too her's-I, amorously to blame!
Sikerly I know what the proffer of her heart doth truly mean-
To covet and honor this calling shall I; No finer glory hath my mind's eye e'er seen!
Two worlds of wonder, each universally unique,
Hath once again come together and do seek
What assuredly is the solitary mate for each other's soul,
Looking to reunite with their hearts, which the other stole!
I have seen and do attest to its Empyrean truth;
To agnize like, you need not seek attestation nor even sleuth!
As water seeks its own level, so too doth love, indeed;
Once a love's true compeer hath been met, it must accede!
Maurice Harris,23 May 2010
poem by Maurice Harris
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Is There A Bitter Pang For Love Removed
Is there a bitter pang for love removed,
O God! The dead love doth not cost more tears
Than the alive, the loving, the beloved—
Not yet, not yet beyond all hopes and fears!
Would I were laid
Under the shade
Of the calm grave, and the long grass of years,—
That love might die with sorrow:—I am sorrow;
And she, that loves me tenderest, doth press
Most poison from my cruel lips, and borrow
Only new anguish from the old caress;
Oh, this world's grief
Hath no relief
In being wrung from a great happiness.
Would I had never filled thine eyes with love,
For love is only tears: would I had never
Breathed such a curse-like blessing as we prove;
Now, if 'Farewell' could bless thee, I would sever!
Would I were laid
Under the shade
Of the cold tomb, and the long grass forever!
poem by Thomas Hood
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Sonnet 47: Betwixt mine eye and heart a league is took
Betwixt mine eye and heart a league is took,
And each doth good turns now unto the other,
When that mine eye is famished for a look,
Or heart in love with sighs himself doth smother,
With my love's picture then my eye doth feast
And to the painted banquet bids my heart;
Another time mine eye is my heart's guest,
And in his thoughts of love doth share a part.
So, either by thy picture or my love,
Thyself, away, art present still with me;
For thou not farther than my thoughts canst move,
And I am still with them, and they with thee;
Or, if they sleep, thy picture in my sight
Awakes my heart to heart's and eye's delight.
poem by William Shakespeare
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Sonnet 43: Fair Eyes, Sweet Lips
Fair eyes, sweet lips, dear heart, that foolish I
Could hope by Cupid's help on you to prey;
Since to himself he doth your gifts apply,
As his main force, choice sport, and easeful stay.
For when he will see who dare him gainsay,
Then with those eyes he looks, lo by and by
Each soul doth at Love's feet his weapons lay,
Glad if for her he give them leave to die.
When he will play, then in her lips he is,
Where blushing red, that Love's self them doth love,
With either lip he doth the other kiss:
But when he will for quiet's sake remove
From all the world, her heart is then his room
Where well he knows, no man to him can come.
poem by Philip Sidney
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Love Doth Persist as Time Doth Wend
Love doth persist as time doth wend,
Omnipresent and efficacious, all doth portend!
No longer fantastic, nor made but in dream-
Though real, a wraith it still doth seem!
Presence without, still not to matter
Mere thought of thee: my heart, pitter-patter!
You are desired yet, though you are not near-
It clements compassion to know you reside here!
Bereft of sentiment am I, more pure-
Than to opine that, by you, I am enraptured!
Time shall doth not belie this fact of most import:
I am not plenary unless with you I do consort!
Ne'er to wither, surely ne'er to wane-
A love as this- surely to ne'er come again!
Maurice Harris,4 December 2008
poem by Maurice Harris
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Sonnet XXI
WAs it the worke of nature or of Art?
which tempred so the feature of her face:
that pride and meeknesse mixt by equall part,
doe both appeare t'adorne her beauties grace.
For with mild pleasance, which doth pride displace,
she to her loues doth lookers eyes allure:
& with sterne countenance back again doth chace
their looser lookes that stir vp lustes impure,
With such strange termes her eyes she doth inure,
that with one looke she doth my life dismay:
and with another doth it streight recure,
her smile me drawes, her frowne me driues away.
Thus doth she traine and teach me with her lookes,
such art of eyes I neuer read in bookes.
poem by Edmund Spenser
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Alas! So All Things Now Do Hold Their Peace
Alas! so all things now do hold their peace,
Heaven and earth disturbed in nothing.
The beasts, the air, the birds their song do cease,
The night{:e}s chare the stars about doth bring.
Calm is the sea, the waves work less and less:
So am not I, whom love, alas, doth wring,
Bringing before my face the great increase
Of my desires, whereat I weep and sing
In joy and woe, as in a doubtful ease.
For my sweet thoughts sometime do pleasure bring,
But by and by the cause of my disease
Gives me a pang that inwardly doth sting,
When that I think what grief it is again
To live and lack the thing should rid my pain.
poem by Henry Howard
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