None sees the theft that would the thief reveal, Nor rob I her of ought which she can miss : Nay, should I twenty kisses take away, There would be little sign I had done so; Why then should I this robbery delay? Oh! she may wake, and therewith angry grow! Well, if she do, I'll back restore that one, And twenty hundred thousand more for loan. WITHER. THE SLEEPING BEAUTY. Year after year unto her feet, The while she slumbereth alone, Over the purple coverlet The maiden's jet black hair hath grown, On either side her trancèd form, Forth streaming from a braid of pearl ; The slumberous light is rich and warm, And moves not on the rounded curl. The silk star-braided coverlid Unto her limbs itself doth mould Languidly ever, and amid Her full black ringlets downward rolled. Glows forth each softly shadowed arm, With bracelets of the diamond bright; Her constant beauty doth inform Stillness with love and day with light. She sleeps! her breathings are not heard, In palace chambers far apart; The fragrant tresses are not stirr'd, That lie upon her charméd heart. She sleeps! on either side upswells, The gold-fringed pillow lightly prest; She sleeps—nor dreams, but ever dwells A perfect form in perfect rest. TENNY SON. Loveliness is ne'er so MRS. JAMIESON. SONG. The lark now leaves his watry nest, And climbing, shakes his dewy wings; He takes his window for the east; And to implore your light, he sings, Awake, awake, the morn will never rise, Till she can dress her beauty at your eyes. The merchant bows unto the seaman's star, The ploughman from the sun his season takes; But still the lover wonders what they are, Who look for day before his mistress wakes. Awake, awake, break through your vails of lawn! Then draw your curtains, and begin the MADRIGAL. dawn. DAVENANT, Do but look on her eyes, they do light All that Love's world compriseth; Do but look on her hair, it is bright As Love's star when it riseth ! Do but mark her forehead, smoother Than words that soothe her! And from her arch'd brow such a grace Sheds itself through the face, As alone there triumphs to the life, All the gain, all the good, of the elements’ strife. Have you seen but a bright lily grow Before rude hands have touch'd it ? Have you mark'd but the fall of the snow, Before the soil hath smutch'd it ? Have you felt the wool of the beaver ? Or the swan's down, ever? Or have smelt o' the bud o' the briar ? Or the nard i' the fire ? Or have tasted the bag o’the bee, Oh! so white ! oh! so soft! oh! so sweet is she! BEN JONSON. Love is like the glass That throws its own rich colour over all, And makes all beautiful. The morning looks Its very loveliest when the fresh air Has tinged the cheek we love with its glad red; And the hot noon Aits by most rapidly When dearest eyes gaze with us on the page Bearing the poet's words of love ;--and then The twilight walk when the link'd arms can feel The beating of the heart; upon the air There is a music never heard but once,A light the eyes can never see again; Each star has its own prophecy of hope, And every song and tale that breathe of love Seem echoes of the heart. LANDON. |
