Consider this small dust, here in the glass,
By atoms moved:
Could you believe that this the body was
Of one that loved;
And in his mistress' flame playing like a fly,
Was turned to cinders by her eye:
Yes ; and in death, as life unblest,
To have't exprest,
Even ashes of lovers find no rest.
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From “The Vision of Delight” BREAK, Fantasy, from thy cave of cloud, And spread thy purple wings, Now all thy figures are allowed, And various shapes of things; Create of airy forms a stream, It must have blood, and naught of phlegm; And though it be a waking dream, Yet let it like an odor... |
From the Greek of Philostratus From “The Forest” 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... |
See the chariot at hand here of Love! Wherein my lady rideth! Each that draws is a swan, or a dove, And well the car Love guideth. As she goes, all hearts do duty Unto her beauty. And, enamored, do wish, so they might But enjoy such a sight, That they still were to... |
From “Epicœne; or, the Silent Woman,” Act I. Sc. 1. STILL to be neat, still to be drest, As you were going to a feast; Still to be powdered, still perfumed,— Lady, it is to be presumed, Though art’s hid causes are not found, All is not sweet, all is not sound. Give me a look, give me a face,... |
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To draw no envy, Shakespeare, on thy name, Am I thus ample to thy book and fame; While I confess thy writings to be such As neither man nor Muse can praise too much.* * * * * Soul of the age! The applause, delight, the wonder of our stage! My... |
