Rare Poems of the Sixteenth and Seventeenth Centuries

الغلاف الأمامي
William James Linton
Roberts brothers, 1883 - 264 من الصفحات

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الصفحة 114 - Her finger was so small, the ring Would not stay on which they did bring, It was too wide a peck : And to say truth, for out it must, It look'd like the great collar, just, About our young colt's neck. Her feet beneath her petticoat, Like little mice stole in and out...
الصفحة 133 - In the green grass she loves to lie, And there with her fair aspect tames The wilder flowers, and gives them names, But only with the roses plays, And them does tell What colour best becomes them, and what smell. Who can foretell for what high cause This darling of the gods was born?
الصفحة 124 - And teach her fair steps to our earth ; Till that divine Idea take a shrine Of crystal flesh, through which to shine ; Meet you her, my Wishes, Bespeak her to my blisses, And be ye call'd my absent kisses.
الصفحة 204 - THERE is a Lady sweet and kind, Was never face so pleased my mind; I did but see her passing by, And yet I love her till I die.
الصفحة 18 - Only joy, now here you are, Fit to hear and ease my care; Let my whispering voice obtain Sweet reward for sharpest pain; Take me to thee, and thee to me. "No, no, no, no, my dear, let be.
الصفحة 128 - I wish her store Of worth may leave her poor Of wishes; and I wish no more. Now, if Time knows That Her, whose radiant brows Weave them a garland of my vows; Her that dares be What these lines wish to see: I seek no further, it is She. 'Tis She, and here Lo! I unclothe and clear My wishes
الصفحة 38 - As fresh as bin the flowers in May, And of my love my roundelay, My merry, merry, merry roundelay, Concludes with Cupid's curse, — They that do change old love for new, Pray Gods they change for worse ! Ambo simul They that do change, etc.
الصفحة 184 - Weep you no more, sad fountains; What need you flow so fast? Look how the snowy mountains Heaven's sun doth gently waste! But my sun's heavenly eyes, View not your weeping, That now lies sleeping Softly, now softly lies Sleeping.
الصفحة 58 - tis my outward soul, Viceroy to that, which then to heaven being gone, Will leave this to control, And keep these limbs, her provinces, from dissolution.
الصفحة 139 - Ametas. Think'st Thou that this Love can stand, Whilst Thou still dost say me nay? Love unpaid does soon disband: Love binds Love as Hay binds Hay.

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