There's not a wind but whispers of thy name, And not a flower that sleeps beneath the moon, But in its hues or fragrance tells a tale BARRY CORNWALL. CUPID AND CAMPASPE. Cupid and my Campaspe play'd He stakes his quiver, bow, and arrows; Growing on's cheek (but none knows how), LYLY. LOVE. THEY sin who tell us love can die, In heaven ambition cannot dwell, Its holy flame for ever burneth, From heaven it came, to heaven returneth; Then hath in heaven its perfect rest; SOUTHEY. LOVE'S PANEGYRICS. 'Tis nature's second sun, Causing a spring of virtues where he shines. And as without the Sun, the world's Great Eye, All colours, beauties, both of art and nature, CHAPMAN. LOVE'S POWER. Love in my bosom, like a bee Doth suck his sweet; Now with his wings he plays with me, Now with his feet. Within mine eyes he makes his nest, His bed amid my tender breast; My kisses are his daily feast; And yet he robs me of my rest. Strike I my lute-he tunes the string, He music plays if I do sing; He lends me every living thing, Yet, cruel, he my heart doth sting. What if I beat the wanton boy With many a rod; He will repay me with annoy, Because a god. Then sit thou safely on my knee, I will not wish to part from thee. LODGE. A YEAR AGO. A YEAR ago, a year ago, I thought my heart so cold and still, That Love it never more could know: That withering Time, and Sorrow's chill, Had frozen all its earlier glow; A year ago, a year ago, I said "I ne'er shall love again But I had not seen Thee then! A year ago, a year ago, My soul was wrapt in grief and gloom, And sighs would swell, and tears would flow, As, bending o'er the lost one's tomb, I thought of her who slept below! A year ago, a year ago, I felt I ne'er could love again But I had not known Thee then! |