A year ago, a year ago, All vain were Beauty's witching wiles, And eye of light, and breast of snow, And raven tress, and lip of smiles, I never wished to love again— LORD STRANGFORD. LOVE'S EXCUSE FOR SADNESS. CHIDE not belov'd, if oft with thee I feel not rapture wholly; For aye the heart that's fill'd with love To streams that glide in noon, the shade So, if my breast reflects the cloud, 'Tis but the cloud of heaven! Thine image glass'd within my soul, That chide me not, if with the light BULWER. THE SHEPHEARD TO THE SWEET Violets, Love's paradise, that spread Your gracious odours, which you couched beare Within your palie faces, Upon the gentle wing of some calme breathing winde That playes amidst the plaine, If by the favour of propitious starres you gaine Such grace as in my ladie's bosom place to find, Be proud to touch those places! And when her warmth your moysture forth doth weare, Whereby her daintie parts are sweetly fed, Your honours of the flowrie meades, I pray, You pretty daughters of the earth and sunne, With milde and seemely breathing straite display My bitter sighs, that have my hart undone ! Vermillion roses, that with new dayes rise Display your crimson fold, fresh looking, faire, Whose radiant bright disgraces The rich adorned rayes of roseate-rising morn! Ah! if her virgin's hand Do pluck your purse, ere Phoebus view the land, And vaile your gracious pomp in lovely Nature's scorn, If chaunce my mistress traces Fast by your flowers to take the Sommer's ayre, Then wofull blushing tempt her glorious eyes To spread their teares, Adonis' death report And tell Love's torments, sorrowing for her friend, Whose drops of bloud withén your leaves consorting, Report fair Venus' moanes to have no end, Then may Remorse, in pittying of my smart, Drie up my teares, and dwell within her hart! RALEIGH. DISINTERESTED LOVE. PHILLIS, men say that all my vows Are to thy fortune paid; Alas! my heart he little knows Were I, of all these woods, the lord, Than all my large command. My humble love has learnt to live A LOVE SONG. SEDLEY. ARE other eyes beguiling, love? Are other white arms wreathing, love? Are other forced sighs breathing, love? Ah, heed them not; but call to mind The arms, the sighs, you leave behindAll thine, love. |