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From fairest creatures we desire increase, That thereby beauty's rose might never die, But as the riper should by time decease, His tender heir might bear his memory: But thou contracted to thine own bright eyes, Feed'st thy light's flame...
Pure fasted faces draw unto this feast: God comes all sweetness to your Lenten lips.
EXPERIENCE, like a pale musician, holds A dulcimer of patience in his hand, Whence harmonies, we cannot understand, Of God; will in his worlds, the strain unfolds In sad-perplexed minors: deathly colds Fall on us while we hear, and countermand...
On Jordan's banks the Arab's camels stray, On Sion's hill the False One's votaries pray, The Baal-adorer bows on Sinai's steep-- Yet there--even there--Oh God!...
weep for those that wept by Babel's stream, Whose shrines are desolate, whose land a dream; Weep for the harp of Judah's broken shell; Mourn--where their God hath dwelt the godless dwell! And where shall Israel lave her bleeding feet?
Whate'er is born of mortal birth Must be consumed with the earth, To rise from generation free: Then what have I to do with thee?
I dreamt a dream! What can it mean? And that I was a maiden Queen Guarded by an Angel mild: Witless woe was ne'er beguiled!
Oh, to vex me, contraries meet in one: Inconstancy unnaturally hath begot A constant habit; that when I would not I change in vows, and in devotion.
Death is here and death is there, Death is busy everywhere, All around, within, beneath, Above is death--and we are death. Death has set his...
Thou art to all lost love the best, The only true plant found, Wherewith young men and maids distrest And left of love, are crown'd. When once the lover's rose is dead Or laid aside forlorn, Then willow-garlands, 'bout the...
I ASK good things that I detest, With speeches fair; Heed not, I pray Thee, Lord, my breast, But hear my prayer. I say ill things I would not say - Things unaware: Regard my breast, Lord, in Thy day, And not my prayer.
Like the ghost of a dear friend dead Is Time long past. A tone which is now forever fled, A hope which is now forever past, A love so sweet it could not last, Was Time long past.
On a starred night Prince Lucifer uprose. Tired of his dark dominion swung the fiend Above the rolling ball in cloud part screened, Where sinners hugged their spectre of repose. Poor prey to his hot fit of pride were those.
The little Love-god lying once asleep, Laid by his side his heart-inflaming brand, Whilst many nymphs that vow'd chaste life to keep Came tripping by; but in her maiden hand The fairest votary took up that fire Which many legions...
When daisies pied, and violets blue, And lady-smocks all silver-white, And cuckoo-buds of yellow hue Do paint the meadows with delight, The cuckoo then, on every tree, Mocks married men, for thus sings he: 'Cuckoo! Cuckoo, cuckoo!' O word of...
"Seldom we find," says Solomon Don Dunce, "Half an idea in the profoundest sonnet. Through all the flimsy things we see at once As easily as through a Naples bonnet-- Trash of all trash!--how _can_ a lady don it?
My love is as a fever longing still, For that which longer nurseth the disease; Feeding on that which doth preserve the ill, The uncertain sickly appetite to please.
A pleasing form; a firm, yet cautious mind; Sincere, though prudent; constant, yet resign'd: Honour unchanged, a principle profess'd, Fix'd to one side, but moderate to the rest: An honest courtier, yet a patriot too; Just to his prince, and...
The frog half fearful jumps across the path, And little mouse that leaves its hole at eve Nimbles with timid dread beneath the swath; My rustling steps awhile their joys deceive, Till past,--and then the cricket sings more strong, And...
When I was small, a Woman died -- Today -- her Only Boy Went up from the Potomac -- His face all Victory To look...
Little Indian, Sioux, or Crow, Little frosty Eskimo, Little Turk or Japanee, Oh! don't you wish that you were me? You have seen the scarlet trees And the lions over seas; You have eaten ostrich eggs, And turned the turtle off their legs.
Dear simple girl, those flattering arts, (From which thou'dst guard frail female hearts, Exist but in imagination, Mere phantoms of thine own creation; For he who views that witching grace, That perfect form, that lovely face, With eyes admiring, oh!
HIS AGE, 1735. If modest youth, with cool reflection crown'd, And every opening virtue blooming round, Could save a parent's justest pride from fate, Or add one patriot to a sinking state; This weeping marble had not ask'd thy tear,...
A spirit passed before me: I beheld The face of Immortality unveiled-- Deep Sleep came down on every eye save mine-- And there it stood,--all formless--but divine: Along my bones the creeping flesh did quake; And as my damp hair...