THE POWER OF BEAUTY SOME say thy fault is youth, some wantonness, Some say thy grace is youth and gentle sport; Both grace and faults are loved of more and less ; Thou mak'st faults graces that to thee resort. As on the finger of a thronéd queen So are those errors that in thee are seen To truths translated and for true things deem'd. How many lambs might the stern wolf betray, But do not so; I love thee in such sort ABSENCE FROM HIS LOVE HOW like a winter hath my absence been From thee, the pleasure of the fleeting year! What freezings have I felt, what dark days seen! What old December's bareness every where ! And yet this time removed was summer's time; Yet this abundant issue seem'd to me Or, if they sing, 'tis with so dull a cheer THE GARDEN OF LOVE FROM you have I been absent in the spring, Hath put a spirit of youth in every thing, Yet nor the lays of birds, nor the sweet smell Or from their proud lap pluck them where they grew; Nor did I wonder at the lily's white, Nor praise the deep vermilion in the rose ; Yet seem'd it winter still, and, you away, THE GARDEN OF LOVE HE forward violet thus did I chide : THE Sweet thief, whence didst thou steal thy sweet If not from my Love's breath? The purple pride The lily I condemnéd for thy hand, And buds of marjoram had stol'n thy hair: A third, nor red nor white, had stol'n of both More flowers I noted, yet I none could see A REAWAKENING WHERE art thou, Muse, that thou forget'st so long To speak of that which gives thee all thy might? Spend'st thou thy fury on some worthless song Darkening thy power to lend base subjects light? Return, forgetful Muse, and straight redeem Rise, resty Muse, my Love's sweet face survey, And make Time's spoils despised every where : Give my Love fame faster than Time wastes life; So thou prevent'st his scythe and crooked knife. |