HE that loves a rosy cheek, Or a coral lip admires, Or from star-like eyes doth seek Fuel to maintain his fires- As old Time makes these decay, So his flames must waste away.
But a smooth and steadfast mind,
Gentle thoughts and calm desires, Hearts with equal love combined,
Kindle never-dying fires. Where these are not, I despise Lovely cheeks, or lips, or eyes.
No tears, Celia, now shall win My resolved heart to return; I have searched thy soul within,
And find nought but pride and scorn; I have learned thy arts, and now Can disdain as much as thou. Some power, in my revenge, convey That love to her I cast away!
WHEN Love, with unconfined wings, Hovers within my gates,
And my divine Althea brings
To whisper at my grates; When I lie tangled in her hair
And fettered to her eye- The birds that wanton in the air Know no such liberty.
When flowing cups run swiftly round
With no allaying Thames, Our careless heads with roses bound,
Our hearts with loyal flames; When thirsty grief in wine we steep, When healths and draughts go free- Fishes, that tipple in the deep, Know no such liberty.
When, like committed linnets I With shriller throat shall sing The sweetness, mercy, majesty, And glories of my king; When I shall voice aloud how good He is, how great should be- Enlarged winds, that curl the flood, Know no such liberty.
Stone walls do not a prison make, Nor iron bars a cage; Minds innocent and quiet take That for an hermitage. If I have freedom in my love,
And in my soul am free- Angels alone, that soar above, Enjoy such liberty.
Ask me no more where Jove bestows, When June is past, the fading rose; For, in your beauty's orient deep, These flowers, as in their causes, sleep.
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 whither doth haste The nightingale when May is past; For in your sweet, dividing throat She winters, and keeps warm her note.
Ask me no more where those stars light That downwards fall in dead of night; For in your eyes they sit, and there Fixed become, as in their sphere.
Ask me no more if east or west The Phoenix builds her spicy nest; For unto you at last she flies, And in your fragrant bosom dies.
THAT SHE SUNG IN HER ARBOR.
SITTING by a river's side Where a silent stream did glide, Muse I did of many things That the mind in quiet brings. I 'gan think how some men deem Gold their god; and some esteem Honor is the chief content That to man in life is lent; And some others do contend Quiet none like to a friend. Others hold there is no wealth Compared to a perfect health; Some man's mind in quiet stands When he 's lord of many lands. But I did sigh, and said all this Was but a shade of perfect bliss;
And in my thoughts I did approve Nought so sweet as is true love.
Love 'twixt lovers passeth these,
When mouth kisseth and heart 'grees WHEN, cruel fair one, I am slain
With folded arms and lips meeting, Each soul another sweetly greeting; For by the breath the soul fleeteth, And soul with soul in kissing meeteth. If love be so sweet a thing,
That such happy bliss doth bring, Happy is love's sugared thrall; But unhappy maidens all Who esteem your virgin blisses Sweeter than a wife's sweet kisses. No such quiet to the mind As true love with kisses kind; But if a kiss prove unchaste, Then is true love quite disgraced. Though love be sweet, learn this of me, No sweet love but honesty.
COME away, come away, Death, And in sad cypress let me be laid! Fly away, fly away, breath: I am slain by a fair cruel maid. My shroud of white, stuck all with yew, O, prepare it;
My part of death no one so true
By thy disdain,
And, as a trophy of thy scorn,
To some old tomb am borne, Thy fetters must their powers bequeath To those of Death;
Nor can thy flame immortal burn, Like monumental fires within an urn: Thus freed from thy proud empire, I shall prove
There is more liberty in Death than Love.
And when forsaken lovers come To see my tomb,
Take heed thou mix not with the crowd, And, (as a victor) proud
To view the spoils thy beauty made, Press near my shade;
Lest thy too cruel breath or name Should fan my ashes back into a flame, And thou, devoured by this revengeful fire, His sacrifice, who died as thine, expire.
But if cold earth, or marble, must Conceal my dust,
Whilst, hid in some dark ruins, I Dumb and forgotten lie, The pride of all thy victory
Will sleep with me;
And they who should attest thy glory, Will or forget or not believe this story. Then to increase thy triumph, let me rest,
Since by thine eye slain, buried in thy breast, THOMAS STANLEY.
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