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النشر الإلكتروني

ON ISABELLA.

WHEN I FIRST THOUGHT HER FAIR.

WHENCE comes my love, O heart disclose!
'Twas from cheeks that shame the rose;
From lips that spoil the rubies praise ;
From eyes that mock the diamond's blaze.
Whence comes my woe; as freely own;
Ah, me! 'twas from a heart like stone.

The blushing cheek speaks modest mind,
The lips befitting words most kind;
The eye does tempt to love's desire,
And seems to say, 'tis Cupid's fire;
Yet all so fair but speak my moan,
Syth nought doth say the heart of stone.

Why thus, my love, so kindly speak
Sweet eye, sweet lip, sweet blushing cheek,
Yet not a heart to save my pain ?
O Venus ! take thy gifts again,
Make nought so fair to cause our moan,
Or make a heart that's like your own.

HARRINGTON, 1561). THE BIRTH OF DESIRE.

WHEN wert thou born, Desire ?

“ In pomp and pride of May." By whom, sweet boy, wert thou begot?

“ By good Conceit, men say.”

Tell me who was thy nurse?

“ Fresh Youth in sugared joy." What was thy meat and daily food ?

“ Sore sighs and great annoy."

What hadst thou, then, to drink ?

“ Unfeigned lovers' tears.” What cradle were you rocked in ?

“ In Hope devoid of fears.”

What brought you, then, asleep?

“ Sweet speech that men liked best." And where is now your dwelling place ?

“ In gentle hearts I rest."

Doth company displease ?

“ It doth in many a one." Where would Desire, then, chuse to be!

“ He likes to be alone."

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WHERE COST THOU LOITER, SPRING ?
What feedeth most your sight?

“ To gaze on favour still.”
Who find you most to be your foe?

“ Disdain of my good will.”

Will ever age or death

Bring you unto decay?
* No, no; Desire both lives and dies
Ten thousand times a day.”

VERE, 1590.

WHERE DOST THOU LOITER, SPRING ?

WHERE dost thou loiter, spring,

Whilst it behoveth
Thee to cease wandering

Where'er thou roveth,
And to my lady bring

The flowers she loveth ?

Come with thy melting skies,

Like her cheek blushing ;
Come with thy dewy eyes,

Where founts are gushing;
Come where the wild bee hies,

When dawn is flushing.

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Lead her where, by the brook,

The first blossom keepeth,
Where, in the shelter'd nook,

The callow bud sleepeth,
Or, with a timid look,

Through its leaves peepeth.

Lead her where, on the spray,

Blithely carolling,
First birds their roundelay

For my lady sing,
But keep, where'er she stray,
True love blossoming.

HOFFMAN.

TO A LOVER.

Fant amorist I what, dost thou think
To taste love's honey, and not drink
One dram of gall ? or to devour
A world of sweet, and taste no sour ?
Dost thou ever think to enter
Th' Elysian Fields, that dar'st not venture
In Charon's barge ? A lover's mind
Must use to sail with every wind.

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He that loves, and fears to try,
Learns his mistress to deny.
Doth she chide thee? 'tis to shew it
That thy coldness makes her do it.
Is she silent? is she mute ?
Silence fully grants thy suit.
Doth she pout and leave the room ?
Then she goes to bid thee come.

Is she sick? why then be sure,
She invites thee to the cure.
Doth she cross thy suit with—No ?!
Tush ! she loves to hear thee woo.
Doth she call the faith of men
In question ? nay, she loves thee then,
And if e'er she makes a blot,
She's lost if that thou hitt'st her not.

He that, after ten denials,
Dares attempt no further trials,
Hath no warrant to acquire
The dainties of his chaste desire.

SIR PHILIP SIDNEY.

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