I heard a cry in the night,
A thousand miles it came,
Sharp as a flash of light,
My name, my name!
It was your voice I heard,
You waked and loved me so--
I send you back this word,
I know, I know!
Auspicious poet, wert thou not my friend,
How could I envy, what I must commend!
But since 'tis nature's law, in love and wit,
That youth should reign, and withering age submit,
With less regret those laurels I resign,
Which, dying on my brows, revive on thine.
With better grace an ancient chief may yield
The long contended honours of the field,
Than venture all his fortune at a cast,
And fight, like Hannibal, to lose at last.
Young princes, obstinate to win the prize,
434
To love thee Year by Year—
May less appear
Than sacrifice, and cease—
However, dear,
Forever might be short, I thought to show—
And so I pieced it, with a flower, now.
My Muse in meads has spent her many hours
Sitting, and sorting several sorts of flowers,
To make for others garlands; and to set
On many a head here, many a coronet.
But amongst all encircled here, not one
Gave her a day of coronation;
Till you, sweet mistress, came and interwove
A laurel for her, ever young as Love.
You first of all crown'd her; she must, of due,
Render for that, a crown of life to you.
Into these Loves who but for Passion looks,
At this first sight here let him lay them by
And seek elsewhere, in turning other books,
Which better may his labor satisfy.
No far-fetch'd sigh shall ever wound my breast,
Love from mine eye a tear shall never wring,
Nor in Ah me's my whining sonnets drest;
A libertine, fantasticly I sing.
My verse is the true image of my mind,
Ever in motion, still desiring change,
And as thus to variety inclin'd,
So in all humours sportively I range.
Tender caresses of kind little sisters
Are ready for you.
With the birds' songs, O the charmed prince,
We're waiting for you.
Branch drunk with sun, you grew, visage of heaven
Before my eyes.
Like a girl tender, like a child quiet,
All - surprise.
They'll often say: 'These sisters are treacherous
In each reply!'
Cocky with daring ones, kids with a boy, timid
With someone shy.
We love, like you, melting clouds and birches
And melted snow.
We love the tales about grandmother's daughters,
Hide this one night thy crescent, kindly Moon;
So shall Endymion faithful prove, and rest
Loving and unawakened on thy breast;
So shall no foul enchanter importune
Thy quiet course; for now the night is boon,
And through the friendly night unseen I fare,
Who dread the face of foemen unaware,
And watch of hostile spies in the bright noon.
Thou knowest, Moon, the bitter power of Love;
’Tis told how shepherd Pan found ways to move,
Poesy! thou sweet'st content
That e'er Heaven to mortals lent,
Though for thy sake I am crost,
Though my best hopes I have lost,
And I knew thou'dst make my trouble
Ten times more than ten times double,
I should love and keep thee too,
Spite of all the world could do.
Though thou be to them a scorn
That to nought but earth are born;
Let my life no longer be,
Than I am in love with thee! ~ WITHER.
I always loved thee gentle Poesy!
And though thou oft hast served to work me woe,
HERE is the dim enchanted wood
Your face, a mystery divine,
But half revealed, half understood,
Appears the counterpart of mine.
Beyond the wood the daylight lies;
Cruel and hard, it lies in wait
To steal the magic from your eyes
And from your lips the thrill of fate.
Ah, stay with me a little while
Here, where the magic shadows rest,
Where all my world is in your smile
And all my heaven on your breast.
Ah no!--cling close, what need to move,
What need to advance or explore?
THOU liest dead, and there will be no memory left behind
Of thee or thine in all the earth, for never didst thou bind
The roses of Pierian streams upon thy brow; thy doom
Is now to flit with unknown ghosts in cold and nameless gloom.
