love poetry

This told, strange Teras touched her lute, and sung
This ditty, that the torchy evening sprung.

Epithalamion Teratos.

Come, come, dear Night, Love's mart of kisses,
Sweet close of his ambitious line,
The fruitful summer of his blisses;
Love's glory doth in darkness shine.

O! come, soft rest of cares, come, Night,
Come, naked Virtue's only tire,
The reaped harvest of the light,
Bound up in sheaves of sacred fire.

On this feast day, oh, cursed day and hour!
Went Hero thorough Sestos, from her tower
To Venus' temple, where unhappily,
As after chanced, they did each other spy.
So fair a church as this had Venus none;
The walls were of discoloured jasper stone,
Wherein was Proteus carved, and o'erhead
A lively vine of green sea-agate spread,
Where by one hand light-headed Bacchus hung,
And with the other wine from grapes out-wrung.
Of crystal shining fair the pavement was;
The town of Sestos called it Venus' glass.

"Gentle youth, forbear
To touch the sacred garments which I wear.
Upon a rock, and underneath a hill,
Far from the town (where all is whist and still,
Save that the sea playing on yellow sand,
Sends forth a rattling murmur to the land,
Whose sound allures the golden Morpheus
In silence of the night to visit us)
My turret stands, and there God knows I play
With Venus' swans and sparrows all the day.
A dwarfish beldame bears me company,
That hops about the chamber where I lie,

Come, come, dear Night, Love's mart of kisses,
Sweet close of his ambitious line,
The fruitful summer of his blisses,
Love's glory doth in darkness shine.

O come, soft rest of cares, come Night!
Come naked virtue's only tire,
The reaped harvest of the light
Bound up in sheaves of sacred fire.
Love calls to war;
Sighs his alarms,
Lips his swords are,
The field his arms.

Come, Night, and lay thy velvet hand
On glorious Day's outfacing face.
And all thy crowned flames command

With that he stripped him to the ivory skin,
And crying, "Love, I come', leaped lively in.
Whereat the sapphire-visaged god grew proud,
And made his capering Triton sound aloud,
Imagining that Ganymede, displeased,
Had left the heavens; therefore on him he seized.
Leander strived; the waves about him wound,
And pulled him to the bottom, where the ground
Was strewed with pearl, and in low coral groves
Sweet singing mermaids sported with their loves
On heaps of heavy gold, and took great pleasure

If Jove himself be subject unto love
And range the woods to find a mortal prey;
If Neptune from the seas himself remove,
And seek on sands with earthly wights to play:
Then may I love my peerless choice by right,
Who far excels each other mortal wight.
If Pluto could by love be drawn from hell,
To yield himself a silly virgin's thrall;
If Phoebus could vouchsafe on earth to dwell,
To win a rustic maid unto his call;
Then how much more should I adore the sight
Of her, in whom the heavens themselves delight?

When Priam's son in midst of Ida plain
Gave one the price, and other two the foile,
If she for whom I still abide in pain
Had lived then within the Troyan soil,
No doubt but hers had been the golden ball,
Helen had scaped rape, and Troy his fall.
Or if my dame had then enjoyed life
When Bacchus sought for Ariadne's love,
No doubt but she had only been his wife,
And flown from hence to sit with gods above:
For she exceeds his choice of Crete so far
As Phoebus doth excel a twinkling star.

Resolved to dust, intombed here lieth Love,
Through fault of her, who here herself should lie;
He struck her breast, but all in vain did prove
To fire the ice: and doubting by and by
His brand had lost his force, he gan to try
Upon himself; which trial made him die.

In sooth no force; let those lament that lust;
I 'll sing a carol-song for obsequy;
For towards me his dealings were unjust,
And cause of all my passid misery:
The Fates, I think, seeing what I had passed,
In my behalf wrought this revenge at last.

I PLAYED with you 'mid cowslips blowing,
— When I was six and you were four;
When garlands weaving, flower-balls throwing,
— Were pleasures soon to please no more.
Through groves and meads, o'er grass and heather,
— With little playmates, to and fro,
We wandered hand in hand together;
— But that was sixty years ago.

You grew a lovely roseate maiden,
— And still our early love was strong;
Still with no care our days were laden,
— They glided joyously along;
And I did love you very dearly —

O fool, to try to carry thyself upon thy own shoulders!
O beggar, to come to beg at thy own door!
Leave all thy burdens on his hands who can bear all,
and never look behind in regret.
Thy desire at once puts out the light from the lamp
it touches with its breath.
It is unholy —
take not thy gifts through its unclean hands.
Accept only what is offered by sacred love.