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Seite 83 - Sweet Day, so cool, so calm, so bright, The bridal of the earth and sky, The dew shall weep thy fall to-night ; For thou must die. Sweet Rose, whose hue, angry and brave, Bids the rash gazer wipe his eye, Thy root is ever in its grave, And thou must die.
Seite 58 - IF all the world and love were young, And truth in every shepherd's tongue, These pretty pleasures might me move To live with thee and be thy love.
Seite 56 - And the birds in the adjoining grove seemed to have a friendly contention with an echo, whose dead voice seemed to live in a hollow tree, near to the brow of that primrose hill.
Seite 189 - To frame the little animal, provide All the gay hues that wait on female pride: Let Nature guide thee; sometimes golden wire The shining bellies of the fly require: The peacock's plumes thy tackle must not fail, Nor the dear purchase of the sable's tail. Each gaudy bird some slender tribute brings, And lends the growing insect proper wings : Silks of all colours must their aid impart, And every fur promote the fisher's art.
Seite 56 - Her voice was good, and the ditty fitted for it: it was that smooth song which was made by Kit Marlow now at least fifty years ago. And the milk-maid's mother sung an answer to it which was made by Sir Walter Raleigh in his younger days. They were oldfashioned poetry, but choicely good; I think much better than the strong lines which are now in fashion in this critical age.
Seite 83 - ... shall weep thy fall to-night, For thou must die. Sweet rose, whose hue angry and brave Bids the rash gazer wipe his eye, Thy root is ever in its grave, And thou must die. Sweet spring, full of sweet days and roses, A box where sweets compacted lie, My music shows ye have your closes, And all must die. Only a sweet and virtuous soul, Like season'd timber, never gives ; But though the whole world turn to coal, Then chiefly lives.
Seite 86 - Courts, I would rejoice ; Or, with my Bryan and a book, Loiter long days near Shawford brook ; There sit by him, and eat my meat ; There see the sun both rise and set ; There bid good morning to next day ; There meditate my time away ; And angle on, and beg to have A quiet passage to a welcome grave.
Seite 228 - In the loose rhymes of every poetaster ; Could I be more than any man that lives, Great, fair, rich, wise, all in superlatives ; Yet I more freely would these gifts resign, Than ever Fortune would have made them mine ; And hold one minute of this holy leisure Beyond the riches of this empty pleasure.
Seite 58 - Thy silver dishes for thy meat, As precious as the gods do eat, Shall on an ivory table be Prepared each day for thee and me. The shepherd swains shall dance and sing For thy delight each May-morning : If these delights thy mind may move, Then live with me and be my love.