And dropping here and there;
Not that I think that any dart
Can make your’s bleed a tear,
Or pierce it any where;
Yet do it to this end,–that I
May by
This secret see,
Though you can make
That heart to bleed, your’s ne’er will ache
For me,
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Dull to myself, and almost dead to these,
Lost to all music now, since every thingPuts on the semblance here of sorrowing.Sick is the land to th’ heart; and doth endureMore dangerous faintings by her desperate cure.But if that golden age would come again,And Charles here rule, as he before did reign;If smooth and unperplex’d the seasons were,As when the sweet Maria lived…
Anthea laugh’d, and, fearing lest excess
She with a dainty blush rebuked her face,And call’d each line back to his rule and space.
Pardon my trespass, Silvia! I confess
None is discreet at all times; no, not JoveHimself, at one time, can be wise and love.
I ask’d thee oft what poets thou hast read,
–I shall, ere long, with green turfs cover’d be;Then sure thou’lt like, or thou wilt envy, me.
Love in a shower of blossoms came
The blooms that fell were white and red;But with such sweets commingled,As whether (this) I cannot tell,My sight was pleased more, or my smell;But true it was, as I roll’d there,Without a thought of hurt or fear,Love turn’d himself into a bee,And with his javelin wounded me;—From which mishap this use I make;Where most sweets…
You are a Tulip seen to-day,
That where you grew, scarce man can say.You are a lovely July-flower;Yet one rude wind, or ruffling shower,Will force you hence, and in an hour.You are a sparkling Rose i’th’ bud,Yet lost, ere that chaste flesh and bloodCan show where you or grew or stood.You are a full-spread fair-set Vine,And can with tendrils love entwine;Yet…