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The Poets of the Elizabethan Age: A Selection of Their Most Celebrated Songs ...
Visualização integral - 1866
awake beauty beds bird Blame blow blush brave breath bright brow cares Christmas cold compared delight dost doth draw E. M. WIMPERIS earth eyes face fair Samela fall fear field flocks flowers give grace green hand happy hast hath head heart heaven hither Hope ICICLES HANG JULIAN PORTCH kiss knows leaves light live look LOVE'S Lute merry mind miss morn move nature needs never night NYMPH'S PASSIONATE play pleasant pleasures poor queen reply rest rise ROBERT rose round season Seek SERVILE shepherd shine short shows sing sleep songs SONNET soon sorrow soul sound spite spring star summer SUNDAY sweet Tell thee things thou thou art thy love tree tunes unto waking wealth WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE wind winter wish Woods yields young Youth
Página 38 - IF all the world and love were young, And truth in every shepherd's tongue, These pretty pleasures might me move To live with thee and be thy love.
Página 14 - With how sad steps, O Moon, thou climb'st the skies; How silently, and with how wan a face; What, may it be that even in heavenly place That busy archer his sharp arrows tries...
Página 12 - Of those fierce darts Despair at me doth throw. 0 make in me those civil wars to cease: 1 will good tribute pay, if thou do so. Take thou of me smooth pillows, sweetest bed, A chamber deaf to noise and blind to light, A rosy garland and a weary head: And if these things, as being thine by right, Move not thy heavy grace, thou shalt in me, Livelier than elsewhere, Stella's image see.
Página 76 - Go, lovely Rose ! Tell her that wastes her time and me, That now she knows, When I resemble her to thee, How sweet and fair she seems to be. Tell her that's young, And shuns to have her graces spied, That had'st thou sprung In deserts where no men abide, Thou must have uncommended died.
Página 12 - The turtle to her mate hath told her tale. Summer is come, for every spray now springs: The hart hath hung his old head on the pale; The buck in brake his winter coat he flings ; The fishes flete with new repaired scale.
Página 49 - The Sundays of man's life, Threaded together on time's string, Make bracelets to adorn the wife Of the eternal glorious King. On Sunday heaven's gate stands ope ; Blessings are plentiful" and rife, More plentiful than hope.
Página 40 - Say to the court, it glows, And shines like rotten wood; Say to the church, it shows What's good, and doth no good. If church and court reply, Then give them both the lie. Tell potentates they live Acting by others' action; Not loved unless they give, Not strong but by a faction.
Página 66 - The glories of our blood and state Are shadows, not substantial things ; There is no armour against fate ; Death lays his icy hand on kings : Sceptre and crown Must tumble down, And in the dust be equal made With the poor crooked scythe and spade.