poems about love

The wall is without a rampart. Because it holds no water,
the moat has calves grazing and frisking in it. So the city
stands. Her father does not think about this, since he
is deluded. And her brothers—Killi of the swift horses
who wears a chaplet lovely to look at
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

No w may we range next to the Ranke of loue
Other Affections , and to doe it right
We must place Favoure there, by which w' approve
Of some thing wherein we conceave delight,
For that it 's good in deede or so in sight:
Herein Loue's obligation doth commence;
Yet favoure may haue force where loue lacks might ,
But without Favoure, Loue is a non ENS ,
For, Favoure waites vpon Love's excellence.

Then Reverence with Favour we may Ranke ,
Bredd by comparing some high Dignitie
With some inferior State (that Fortune sanck)

ACT V.

SCENE I. The same .

Enter HOLOFERNES , SIR NATHANIEL , and DULL .

Hol. Satis quod sufficit.
Nath. I praise God for you, sir: your reasons at dinner have been sharp and sententious: pleasant without scurrility, witty, without affection, audacious without impudency, learned without opinion, and strange without heresy. I did converse this quondam day with a companion of the king's, who is intituled, nominated or called, Don Adriano de Armado.

ACT IV.

Scene I. The same .

Enter the Princess, and her train, a Forester, BOYET , ROSALINE , MARIA , and KATHARINE .

Prin. Was that the king, that spurr'd his horse so hard
Against the steep uprising of the hill?
Boyet. I know not; but I think it was not he.
Prin. Whoe'er a was, a' show'd a mounting mind.
Well, lords, to-day we shall have our dispatch:
On Saturday we will return to France.
Then, forester, my friend, where is the bush
That we must stand and play the murderer in?

ACT III.

Scene I. The same .

Enter ARMADO and MOTH .

Arm. Warble, child; make passionate my sense of hearing.
Moth. Concolinel.
Arm. Sweet air! Go, tenderness of years; take this key, give enlargement to the swain, bring him festinately hither: I must employ him in a letter to my love.
Moth. Master, will you win your love with a French brawl?
Arm. How meanest thou? brawling in French?

ACT II.

Scene I. The same .

Enter the Princess of France, ROSALINE , MARIA , KATHARINE , BOYET , Lords, and other Attendants.

Boyet. Now, madam, summon up your dearest spirits:
Consider who the king your father sends,
To whom he sends, and what 's his embassy:
Yourself, held precious in the world's esteem,
To parley with the sole inheritor
Of all perfections that a man may owe,
Matchless Navarre; the plea of no less weight
Than Aquitaine, a dowry for a queen.
Be now as prodigal of all dear grace

Scene I. The king of Navarre's park .

Enter FERDINAND , king of NAVARRE , BIRON , LONGAVILLE , and DUMAIN .

King . Let fame, that all hunt after in their lives,
Live register'd upon our brazen tombs
And then grace us in the disgrace of death;
When, spite of cormorant devouring Time,
The endeavour of this present breath may buy
That honour which shall bate his scythe's keen edge
And make us heirs of all eternity.
Therefore, brave conquerors, — for so you are,
That war against your own affections

Ode XXV.

'Tis the last rose of summer
Left blooming alone—
All her lovely companions
Are faded and gone!

No flower of her kindred,
No rose-bud, is nigh,
To reflect back her blushes,
Or give sigh for sigh.

I'll not leave thee, thou come one,
To pine on the stem;
Since the lovely are sleeping,
Go sleep thou with them.

Thus kindly I scatter
Thy leaves o'er the bed,
Where thy mates of the garden
Lie scentless and dead.

So soon may I follow

A " Melody " of Tom Moore's . 1813.

Through Erin's isle,
To sport awhile,
As Love and Valour wander'd
With Wit the sprite,
Whose quiver bright
A thousand arrows squander'd:
Where'er they pass,
A triple grass

With your elephants in rut, with your proud horses, with your fame
that does not fade, Pekan, you who gave clothing to the dark
mindless peacock in compassion because it was shivering with the cold!
I come to you not because I am hungry, not because of the burden
of my family! But the gift for which I beg is that tonight
you may mount your chariot strung with bells and free her
of the anguish she lives with, and for that I sing “May those
who love mercy act with justice!” while I play on my small yal
black as a kalam berry, keeping