Through the house give glimmering light
By the dead and drowsy fire;
Every elf and fairy sprite
hop as light as bird from brier.
Now, until the break of day
Through this house each fairy stray.
Through the house give glimmering light
By the dead and drowsy fire;
Every elf and fairy sprite
hop as light as bird from brier.
Now, until the break of day
Through this house each fairy stray.
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 thronèd queen,The basest jewel will be well esteemed.So are those errors that in thee are seenTo truths translated, and for true things deemed.How many lambs might the stern wolf betray,If like a lamb…
Spied a blossom passing fairPlaying in the wanton air:Through the velvet leaves the windAll unseen ‘gan passage find;That the lover, sick to death,Wish’d himself the heaven’s breath.Air, quoth he, thy cheeks may blow;Air, would I might triumph so!But, alack, my hand is swornNe’er to pluck thee from thy thorn:Vow, alack, for youth unmeet;Youth so apt…
The time has come for us to become madmen in your chain, toburst our bonds and become estranged from all;To yield up our souls, no more to bear the disgrace of such asoul, to set fire to our house, and run like fire to the tavern.Until we ferment, we shall not escape from this vat…
Let those who are in favour with their starsOf public honour and proud titles boast,Whilst I, whom fortune of such triumph bars,Unlook’d for joy in that I honour most.Great princes’ favourites their fair leaves spreadBut as the marigold at the sun’s eye,And in themselves their pride lies buried,For at a frown they in their glory…
Which alters when it alteration finds,Or bends with the remover to remove:O no! it is an ever-fixed markThat looks on tempests and is never shaken;It is the star to every wandering bark,Whose worth’s unknown, although his height be taken.Love’s not Time’s fool, though rosy lips and cheeksWithin his bending sickle’s compass come:Love alters not with…
Have put on black, and loving mourners be,Looking with pretty ruth upon my pain.And truly not the morning sun of heavenBetter becomes the grey cheeks of the east,Nor that full star that ushers in the evenDoth half that glory to the sober westAs those two mourning eyes become thy face.O, let it then as well…