And those eyes, the break of day,
Lights that do mislead the morn!
But my kisses bring again,
Bring again;
Seals of love, but seal’d in vain,
Seal’d in vain!
Similar Posts
? or John Fletcher.
And the mountain tops that freezeBow themselves when he did sing:To his music plants and flowersEver sprung; as sun and showersThere had made a lasting spring.Every thing that heard him play,Even the billows of the sea,Hung their heads and then lay by.In sweet music is such art,Killing care and grief of heartFall asleep, or hearing,…
Against that time, if ever that time come,
When as thy love hath cast his utmost sum,Call’d to that audit by advised respects;Against that time when thou shalt strangely passAnd scarcely greet me with that sun thine eye,When love, converted from the thing it was,Shall reasons find of settled gravity,–Against that time do I ensconce me hereWithin the knowledge of mine own desert,And…
Sonnet 121:Tis Better To Be Vile Than Vile Esteemed by William Shakespeare
No, Time, thou shalt not boast that I do change.Thy pyramids built up with newer mightTo me are nothing novel, nothing strange;They are but dressings of a former sight.Our dates are brief, and therefore we admireWhat thou dost foist upon us that is old,And rather make them born to our desireThan think that we before…
Then let not winter’s ragged hand deface
Make sweet some vial; treasure thou some placeWith beauty’s treasure, ere it be self-kill’d.That use is not forbidden usury,Which happies those that pay the willing loan;That’s for thyself to breed another thee,Or ten times happier, be it ten for one;Ten times thyself were happier than thou art,If ten of thine ten times refigured thee:Then what…
Sonnet 143: Lo, As A Careful Huswife Runs To Catch by William Shakespeare
Lo, as a careful huswife runs to catchOne of her feathered creatures broke away,Sets down her babe and makes all swift dispatchIn pursuit of the thing she would have stay,Whilst her neglected child holds her in chase,Cries to catch her whose busy care is bentTo follow that which flies before her face,Not prizing her poor…
Sonnets Xv by William Shakespeare
TO me, fair friend, you never can be old;For as you were when first your eye I eyed,Such seems your beauty still. Three Winters coldHave from the forests shook three Summers’ pride;Three beauteous springs to yellow Autumn turn’dIn process of the seasons have I seen,Three April perfumes in three hot Junes burn’d,Since first I saw…