1247 Love poems

Out upon it, I have lov’d Three whole days together; And am like to love three more, If it prove fair weather. Time shall moult away his wings, Ere he shall discover In the whole wide world again Such a constant lover. But the spite on’t is, no praise Is due at all to me; Love with me had made no stays, Had it any been but she. Had it any been but she, And that very face, There had been at least ere this A dozen dozen in her place.

(from Much Ado About Nothing ) Sigh no more, ladies, sigh no more. Men were deceivers ever, One foot in sea, and one on shore, To one thing constant never. Then sigh not so, but let them go, And be you blithe and bonny, Converting all your sounds of woe Into hey nonny, nonny. Sing no more ditties, sing no more Of dumps so dull and heavy. The fraud of men was ever so Since summer first was leafy. Then sigh not so, but let them go, And be you blithe and bonny, Converting all your sounds of woe Into hey, nonny, nonny.

(from Measure for Measure ) Take, oh take those lips away, That so sweetly were forsworn, And those eyes: the breake of day, Lights that do mislead the Morn; But my kisses bring again, bring again, Seals of love, but sealed in vain, sealed in vain.

The world is full of loss; bring, wind, my love, my home is where we make our meeting-place, and love whatever I shall touch and read within that face. Lift, wind, my exile from my eyes; peace to look, life to listen and confess, freedom to find to find to find that nakedness.

Ask not the cause why sullen spring So long delays her flow'rs to bear; Why warbling birds forget to sing, And winter storms invert the year? Chloris is gone; and Fate provides To make it spring where she resides. Chloris is gone, the cruel fair; She cast not back a pitying eye: But left her lover in despair, To sigh, to languish, and to die: Ah, how can those fair eyes endure To give the wounds they will not cure! Great god of Love, why hast thou made A face that can all hearts command, That all religions can invade, And change the laws of ev'ry land? Where thou hadst plac'd such pow'r before, Thou shouldst have made her mercy more. When Chloris to the temple comes, Adoring crowds before her fall; She can restore the dead from tombs, And ev'ry life but mine recall. I only am by love design'd To be the victim for mankind.

Amarantha sweet and fair Ah braid no more that shining hair! As my curious hand or eye Hovering round thee let it fly. Let it fly as unconfin’d As its calm ravisher, the wind, Who hath left his darling th’East, To wanton o’er that spicy nest. Ev’ry tress must be confest But neatly tangled at the best; Like a clue of golden thread, Most excellently ravelled. Do not then wind up that light In ribands, and o’er-cloud in night; Like the sun in’s early ray, But shake your head and scatter day. See ’tis broke! Within this grove The bower, and the walks of love, Weary lie we down and rest, And fan each other’s panting breast. Here we’ll strip and cool our fire In cream below, in milk-baths higher: And when all wells are drawn dry, I’ll drink a tear out of thine eye, Which our very joys shall leave That sorrows thus we can deceive; Or our very sorrows weep, That joys so ripe, so little keep.

Come, my Celia, let us prove, While we can, the sports of love; Time will not be ours forever; He at length our good will sever. Spend not then his gifts in vain. Suns that set may rise again; But if once we lose this light, ’Tis with us perpetual night. Why should we defer our joys? Fame and rumor are but toys. Cannot we delude the eyes Of a few poor household spies, Or his easier ears beguile, So removèd by our wile? ’Tis no sin love’s fruit to steal; But the sweet thefts to reveal, To be taken, to be seen, These have crimes accounted been.

Drink to me only with thine eyes, And I will pledge with mine; Or leave a kiss but in the cup, And I’ll not look for wine. The thirst that from the soul doth rise Doth ask a drink divine; But might I of Jove’s nectar sup, I would not change for thine. I sent thee late a rosy wreath, Not so much honouring thee As giving it a hope, that there It could not withered be. But thou thereon didst only breathe, And sent’st it back to me; Since when it grows, and smells, I swear, Not of itself, but thee.

My song has put off her adornments. She has no pride of dress and decoration. Ornaments would mar our union; they would come between thee and me; their jingling would drown thy whispers. My poet’s vanity dies in shame before thy sight. O master poet, I have sat down at thy feet. Only let me make my life simple and straight, like a flute of reed for thee to fill with music.

Ask me no more where Jove bestows, When June is past, the fading rose; For in your beauty's orient deep These flowers as in their causes, sleep. Ask me no more whither doth stray The golden atoms of the day; For in pure love heaven did prepare Those powders to enrich your hair. Ask me no more whither doth haste The nightingale when May is past; For in your sweet dividing throat She winters and keeps warm her note. Ask me no more where those stars light That downwards fall in dead of night; For in your eyes they sit, and there, Fixed become as in their sphere. Ask me no more if east or west The phoenix builds her spicy nest; For unto you at last she flies, And in your fragrant bosom dies.