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Strana 135 - And to his robbery had annex'd thy breath ; But, for his theft, in pride of all his growth A vengeful canker eat him up to death. More flowers I noted, yet I none could see But sweet or colour it had stol'n from thee.
Strana 183 - O'er other creatures : yet when I approach Her loveliness, so absolute she seems And in herself complete, so well to know • Her own, that what she wills to do or say Seems wisest, virtuousest, discreetest, best: All higher knowledge in her presence falls Degraded ; Wisdom in discourse with her Loses discountenanc'd, and like Folly shows...
Strana 294 - Had we never lov'd sae kindly, Had we never lov'd sae blindly, Never met— or never parted, We had ne'er been broken-hearted.
Strana 137 - ... No longer mourn for me when I am dead Than you shall hear the surly sullen bell Give warning to the world that I am fled From this vile world, with vilest worms to dwell : Nay, if you read this line, remember not The hand that writ it; for I love you so That I in your sweet thoughts would be forgot If thinking on me then should make you woe.
Strana 189 - Methought I saw my late espoused saint Brought to me like Alcestis from the grave, Whom Jove's great son to her glad husband gave, Rescued from death by force though pale and faint.
Strana 194 - ASK me no more whither do stray The golden atoms of the day, For in pure love heaven did prepare Those powders to enrich your hair. Ask me no more...
Strana 151 - At a fair vestal throned by the west, And loosed his love-shaft smartly from his bow, As it should pierce a hundred thousand hearts : But I might see young Cupid's fiery shaft Quench'd in the chaste beams of the watery moon, And the imperial votaress passed on, In maiden meditation, fancy-free.
Strana 312 - tis his fancy to run ; At night he reclines on his Thetis's breast. So when I am wearied with wandering all day ; To thee, my delight, in the evening I come : No matter what beauties I saw in my way : They were but my visits, but thou art my home.
Strana 137 - ... this line, remember not The hand that writ it; for I love you so That I in your sweet thoughts would be forgot If thinking on me then should make you woe. O, if, I say, you look upon this verse When I perhaps compounded am with clay, Do not so much as my poor name rehearse, But let your love even with my life decay, Lest the wise world should look into your moan And mock you with me after I am gone.