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WELCOME, welcome, do I sing,
Breaking from your iv'ry pale,
The delightful nightingale.
Though the winter have begun,
Shall not want the summer's sun.
He that still may see your cheeks,
Where all rareness still reposes; Is a fool if e'er he seeks
Other lilies, other roses.
He to whom your soft lip yields,
And perceives your breath in kissing, All the odours of the fields,
Never, never shall be missing.
He that question would anew
What fair Eden was of old, Let him rightly study you,
And a brief of that behold.
Welcome, welcome, do I sing,
LANSDOWNE MS. NO. 777.
If thou would'st have me paint The home to which, could love fulfil its
prayers, This hand would lead thee, listen :- A deep
vale Shut out by Alpine hills from the rude world, Near a clear lake, margined by fruits of gold And whispering myrtles; glassing softest
As cloudless, save with rare and roseate
shadows, As I would have thy fate! A palace lifting to eternal summer Its marble walls, from out a glassy bower Of coolest foliage, musical with birds, Whose songs should syllable thy name! At
We'll sit beneath the arching vines, and
wonder Why earth could be unhappy, while the
heavens Still left us youth and love! We'd have
no friends That were not lovers; no ambition, save To excel them all in love; we'd read no
books That were not tales of love—that we might
smile To think how poorly eloquence of words Translates the poetry of hearts like ours! And when night came, amidst the breathless
guess what star should be our home when love
Becomes immortal; while the perfumed light
forth l'the midst of roses !- Dost thou like the
A SONNET UPON A STOLEN KISS.
Now gentle sleep hath closed up those eyes, Which, waking, kept my boldest thoughts
And free access, unto that sweet lip, lies, From whence I long the rosie breath to
draw. Methinks no wrong it were, if I should
steal From those two melting rubies, one poor
None sees the theft that would the thief
reveal, Nor rob I her of ought which she can
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.