The British Poets, Volumen1

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Little, Brown & Company, 1866
 

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Página 195 - You haste away so soon; As yet the early-rising Sun Has not attain'd his noon. Stay, stay Until the hasting day Has run But to the even-song; And, having pray'd together, we Will go with you along. We have short time to stay, as you, We have as short a Spring ; As quick a growth to meet decay As you, or any thing.
Página xxi - Would harrow up thy soul ; freeze thy young blood ; Make thy two eyes, like stars, start from their spheres ; Thy knotted and combined locks to part, And each particular hair to stand on end, Like quills upon the fretful porcupine : But this eternal blazon must not be To ears of flesh and blood : — List, list, O list ! — If thou didst ever thy dear father love, Ham.
Página 110 - As if here were those cooler shades of love. Can such delights be in the street " And open fields and we not see't ? Come, we'll abroad; and let's obey The proclamation made for May : And sin no more, as we have done, by staying; But, my Corinna, come, let's go a-Maying.
Página 17 - I sing of dews, of rains, and, piece by piece, Of balm, of oil, of spice, and...
Página 321 - Ask me why this flower does show So yellow-green, and sickly too ? Ask me why the stalk is weak And bending (yet it doth not break) ? I will answer : These discover What fainting hopes are in a lover.
Página 132 - The higher he's a-getting, The sooner will his race be run, And nearer he's to setting. That age is best which is the first, When youth and blood are warmer; But being spent, the worse and worst Times still succeed the former. Then be not coy, but use your time, And...
Página 242 - Good morning to this primrose too ; Good morrow to each maid ; That will with flowers the tomb bestrew Wherein my Love is laid. Ah ! woe is me, woe, woe is me, Alack and well-a-day ! For pity, sir, find out that bee, Which bore my Love away. I'll seek him in your bonnet brave ; I'll seek him in your eyes ; Nay, now I think they've made his grave I' th
Página 128 - I'll call forth, To pledge this second health In wine, whose each cup's worth An Indian commonwealth. A goblet next I'll drink To Ovid and suppose, Made he the pledge, he'd think The world had all one nose.
Página 173 - TO MEADOWS YE have been fresh and green, Ye have been fill'd with flowers, And ye the walks have been Where maids have spent their hours.
Página 4 - E'en death to die for thee. Thou art my life, my love, my heart, The very eyes of me: And hast command of every part, To live and die for thee.

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