So long lives this, and this gives life to Which I new pay as if not paid before. I all alone beweep my outcast state, And look upon myself and curse my fate, поре, But if the while I think on thee, dear friend, All losses are restor'd and sorrows end. XXXIII Full many a glorious morning have I seen Flatter the mountain-tops with sovereign. eye, Kissing with golden face the meadows green, Featured like him, like him with friends Gilding pale streams possessed, Gilding pale streams with heavenly Each changing place with that which goes before, In sequent toil all forwards do contend. Crooked eclipses 'gainst his glory fight, Time doth transfix the flourish set on youth LXXIII That time of year thou mayst in me behold When yellow leaves, or none, or few, do hang Upon those boughs which shake against the cold, Bare ruined choirs, where late the sweet birds sang. In me thou see'st the twilight of such day And delves the parallels in beauty's As after sunset fadeth in the west, brow, Feeds on the rarities of nature's truth, mow: And yet to times in hope my verse shall stand, Praising thy worth, despite his cruel hand. LXXI No longer mourn for me when I am dead From this vile world, with vilest worms Nay, if you read this line, remember not 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. Which by and by black night doth take away, Death's second self, that seals up all in rest. In me thou see'st the glowing of such That on the ashes of his youth doth lie, This thou perceiv'st, which makes thy To love that well which thou must leave ere long. CIV To me, fair friend, you never can be old, For as you were when first your eye I eyed, Such seems your beauty still. Three winters cold Have from the forests shook three summers' price, Three beauteous springs to yellow autumn turned In process of the seasons have I seen, Three April perfumes in three hot Junes burned Since first I saw you fresh, which yet are green. Ah! yet doth beauty, like a dial-hand, Steal from his figure and no pace perceived; So your sweet hue, which methinks still doth stand, Hath motion and mine eye may be deceived: For fear of which, hear this, thou age unbred: Ere you were born was beauty's summer dead. CVI When in the chronicle of wasted time Then, in the blazon of sweet beauty's best, Of hand, of foot, of lip, of eye, of brow, I see their antique pen would have expressed Even such a beauty as you master now. They had not skill enough your worth to sing: For we, which now behold these present days, Have eyes to wonder, but lack tongues to praise. CIX O, never say that I was false of heart, Though absence seemed my flame to qualify. As easy might I from myself depart That is my home of love: if I have ranged, So that myself bring water for my stain. reigned All frailties that besiege all kinds of blood, That it could so preposterously be stained, To leave for nothing all thy sum of good; For nothing this wide universe I call, Save thou, my rose; in it thou art my all. CXVI Let me not to the marriage of true minds That looks on tempests and is never shaken; It is the star to every wandering bark, Whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken. Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips. and cheeks Within his bending sickle's compass come; Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks, But bears it out even to the edge of doom. CXXX My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun; Coral is far more red than her lips' red; If snow be white, why then her breasts are dun; If hairs be wires, black wires grow on her head. I have seen roses damasked, red and white, But no such roses see I in her cheeks; And in some perfumes is there more delight Than in the breath that from my mistress reeks. I love to hear her speak, yet well I know That music hath a far more pleasing sound; I grant I never saw a goddess go; For those whom thou think'st thou dost overthrow Die not, poor Death; nor yet canst thou kill me. From rest and sleep, which but thy picture be, Much pleasure; then from thee much more must flow; And soonest our best men with thee do go Rest of their bones and souls' delivery! Thou art slave to fate, chance, kings, and desperate men, And dost with poison, war, and sickness dwell; And poppy or charms can make us sleep as well And better than thy stroke. Why swell'st thou then? One short sleep past, we wake eternally, And Death shall be no more: Death, thou shalt die! BEN JONSON (1573-1637) ECHO'S DIRGE FOR NARCISSUS Slow, slow, fresh fount, keep time with my salt tears; Yet slower, yet, O faintly, gentle springs; List to the heavy part the music bears, Woe weeps out her division when she sings. Droop herbs and flowers, Our beauties are not ours; Like melting snow upon some craggy hill, Since nature's pride is now a withered daffodil. V TO CELIA Drink to me only with thine eyes And I will pledge with mine; Or leave a kiss but in the cup, And I'll not look for wine. The thirst that from the soul doth rise Doth ask a drink divine; But might I of Jove's nectar sup, I would not change for thine. I sent thee late a rosy wreath, It could not withered be; SIMPLEX MUNDITIIS Still to be neat, still to be drest, Though art's hid causes are not found, SONG THAT WOMEN ARE BUT MEN'S SHADOWS. At morn and even, shades are longest; Styled but the shadows of us men? |