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cell'd woe,

But thy eternal summer shall not fade, f For precious friends hid in death's dateNor lose possession of that fair thou less night,

6 owest;

And weep afresh love's long since canNor shall Death brag thou wander'st in e his shade,

And moan the expensel of many a When in eternal lines to time thou 6

vanish'd sight: growest:

Then can I grieve at grievances foregone, So long as men can breathe or eyes can. And heavily from woe to woe tell o'er see,

The sad , So long lives this, and this gives life to which I new pay as if not paid before. thee.

But if the while I think on thee, dear

friend, All losses are restor'd and sorrows end.


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Full many a glorious morning have I


When in disgrace with fortune and men's

eyes, I all alone beweep my outcast state, And trouble deaf heaven with my boot

less cries, And look upon myself and curse my fate, Wishing me like to one more rich in

nope, Featured like him, like him with friends

possessed, Desiring this man's art and that man's

scope, With what I most enjoy contented least; Yet in these thoughts myself almost de

spising, Haply I think on thee, and then my state, Like to the lark at break of day arising From sullen earth, sings hymns at v heaven's gate;

u For thy sweet Tove remembered such

wealth brings That then Y scorn to change my state

with kings.

Flatter the mountain-tops with sovereign

eye, Kissing with golden face the meadows

Gilding pale streams with heavenly

Anon permit the basest clouds to ride
With ugly rack on his celestial face,
And from the forlorn world his visage

Stealing unseen to west with this dis-

grace: Even so my sun one early morn did shine With all-triumphant splendor on my

brow; But out, alack! he was but one hour mine; The region cloud hath masked him for

me now. Yet him for this my love no whit dis

daineth; Suns of the world may stain, when

heaven's sun staineth.



When to the sessions of sweet silent

I summon up remembrance of things past,
I sigh the lack of many a thing I sought,
And with old woes new wail my dear

time's waste:
Then can I drown an eye, unus'd to flow,

Like as the waves make towards the

pebbled shore, So do our minutes hasten to their end;

1 loss

2 flying clouds

birds sang.

Each changing place with that which goes

LXXIII before, In sequent toil all forwards do contend.

That time of year thou mayst in me beNativity, once in the main of light,

hold Crawls to maturity, wherewith being When yellow leaves, or none, or few, do crowned,

hang Crooked eclipses 'gainst his glory fight, Upon those boughs which shake against And Time that gave doth now his gift

the cold, confound.

Bare ruined choirs, where late the sweet Time doth transfix the flourish set on youth

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,

Which by and by black night doth take Feeds on the rarities of nature's truth,

away, And nothing stands but for his scythe to Death's second self, that seals up all in mow:

rest. And yet to times in hope my verse shall In me thou see'st the glowing of such stand,

fire Praising thy worth, despite his cruel That on the ashes of his youth doth lie, hand.

As the death-bed whereon it must expire,
Consumed with that which it was nour-

ished by.

This thou perceiv'st, which makes thy

love more strong, No longer mourn for me when I am dead To love that well which thou must leave Than you shall hear the surly sullen bell ere long Give warning to the world that I am

fled From this vile world, with vilest worms

CIV to dwell: Nay, if you read this line, remember not To me, fair friend, you never can be old, The hand that writ it; for I love you For as you were when first your eye I

eyed, That I in your sweet thoughts would be Such seems your beauty still. Three winforgot,

ters cold If thinking on me then should make you Have from the forests shook three sumwoe.

mers' price, O, if, I say, you look upon this verse Three beauteous springs to yellow autumn When I perhaps compounded am with turned clay,

In process of the seasons have I seen, Do not so much as my poor name re- Three April perfumes in three hot Junes hearse,

burned But let your love even with my

life Since first I saw you fresh, which yet are decay,

green. Lest the wise world should look into your Ah! yet doth beauty, like a dial-hand, moan,

Steal from his figure and no pace perAnd mock you with me after I am gone. ceived;

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So your sweet hue, which methinks still All frailties that besiege all kinds of blood, doth stand,

That it could so preposterously be stained, Hath motion and mine eye may be de- To leave for nothing all thy sum of good; ceived:

For nothing this wide universe I call, For fear of which, hear this, thou age un- Save thou, my rose; in it thou art my all.

bred: Ere you were born was beauty's summer

CXVI dead.

Let me not to the marriage of true minds CVI

Admit impediments. Love is not love When in the chronicle of wasted time

Which alters when it alteration finds, I see descriptions of the fairest wights,

Or bends with the remover to remove: And beauty making beautiful old rime O, no! it is an ever-fixed mark In praise of ladies dead and lovely

That looks on tempests and is never knights,

shaken; Then, in the blazon of sweet beauty's

It is the star to every wandering bark, best,

Whose worth's unknown, although his Of hand, of foot, of lip, of eye, of brow,

height be taken. I see their antique pen would have ex

Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips pressed

and cheeks Even such a beauty as you master now.

Within his bending sickle's compass come; So all their praises are but prophecies

Love alters not with his brief hours and Of this our time, all you prefiguring;

weeks, And, for they looked but with divining

But bears it out even to the edge of doom.

If this be error and upon me proved, eyes, They had not skill enough your worth to

I never writ, nor no man ever loved. sing: For we, which now behold these present

CXXX days,

My mistress' eyes are nothing like the Have eyes to wonder, but lack tongues to

sun; praise.

Coral is far more red than her lips' red; CIX

If snow be white, why then her breasts

are dun; 0, never say that I was false of heart, If hairs be wires, black wires grow on her Though absence seemed my flame to head. qualify.

I have seen

roses damasked, red and As easy might I from myself depart

white, As from my soul, which in thy breast doth But no such roses see I in her cheeks;

And in some perfumes is there more deThat is my home of love: if I have ranged, light Like him that travels I return again, Than in the breath that from my mistress Just to the time, not with the time ex- reeks. changed,

I love to hear her speak, yet well I know So that myself bring water for my stain. That music hath a far more pleasing Never believe, though in my nature sound; reigned

I grant I never saw a goddess go;




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My mistress, when she walks, treads on I cannot think that he who then loved the ground:

most, And yet, by heaven, I think my love as Sunk so low as to love one which did

scorn. As any she belied with false compare.

But since this god produced a destiny,
And that vice-nature, custom, lets it be,

I must love her that loves not me.
JOHN DONNE (1573–1631)

Sure they which made him god, meant GO AND CATCH A FALLING STAR

not so much,

Nor he in his young godhead pracGo and catch a falling star,

tised it. Get with child a mandrake root,

But when an even flame two hearts did Tell me where all past years are, Or who cleft the devil's foot;

His office was indulgently to fit Teach me to hear mermaids singing,

Actives to passives; correspondency
Or to keep off envy's stinging,

Only his subject was; it cannot be
And find

Love if I love who loves not me.
What wind
Serves to advance an honest mind.

But every modern god will now extend If thou be'st born to strange sights,

His vast prerogative as far as Jove. Things invisible go see,

To rage, to lust, to write to, to commend, Ride ten thousand days and nights

All is the purlieu of the god of love. Till age snow white hairs on thee.

O! were we wakened by this tyranny Thou, when thou return'st, wilt tell me To ungod this child again, it could not be All strange wonders that befell thee,

I should love her who loves not me.
And swear

Rebel and atheist too, why murmur I, Lives a woman true and fair.

As though I felt the worst that love

could do? If thou find'st one, let me know; Love might make me leave loving, or Such a pilgrimage were sweet.

might try Yet do not; I would not go,

A deeper plague, to make her love me Though at next door we should meet.

too; Though she were true when you met her, Which, since she loves before, I am loth to And last till you write your letter,

see. Yet she

Falsehood is worse than hate; and that Will be

must be, False, ere I come, to two or three. If she whom I love should love me.






I long to talk with some old lover's ghost, Death, be not proud, though some have Who died before the god of love was called thee born.

Mighty and dreadful, for thou art not so;

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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

goRest 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!

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,

Not so much honoring thee
As giving it a hope that there

It could not withered be;
But thou thereon didst only breathe

And sent'st it back to me;
Since when it grows, and smells, I swear,

Not of itself, but thee.

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Still 1 to be neat, still to be drest,
As you were going to a feast;
Still to be powdered, still perfumed:
Lady, it is to be presumed,
Though art's hid causes are not found,
All is not sweet, all is not sound.
Give me a look, give me a face,
That makes simplicity a grace;
Robes loosely flowing, hair as free:
Such sweet neglect more taketh me
Than all th' adulteries of art;
They strike mine eyes, but not my heart.

BEN JONSON (1573–1637)




Slow, slow, fresh fount, keep time with

my salt tears; Yet slower, yet, 0 faintly, gentle

springs; List to the heavy part the music bears, Woe weeps out her division when she

Droop herbs and flowers,
Fall grief in showers,
Our beauties are not ours;

0, I could still, Like melting snow upon some craggy hill,

Drop, drop, drop, drop, Since nature's pride is now a withered


Follow a shadow, it still flies you,

Seem to fly it, it will pursue;
So court a mistress, she denies you,

Let her alone, she will court you.
Say, are not women truly then
Styled but the shadows of us men?
At morn and even, shades are longest;

At noon, they are short or none; Some men at weakest, they are strongest,

But grant us perfect, they're not known. Say, are not women truly then Styled but the shadows of us men? I always


Drink to me only with thine eyes

And I will pledge with mine;

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