Song [Secret Love] |
John Clare |
1841 |
Love |
I hid my love when young while I Couldn't bear the buzzing of a fly I hid my love to my despite Till I could not bear to look at light I dare not gaze upon her face But left her memory in each place Where ere I saw a wild flower lie I kissed and bade my love... |
Song, to the Gods, Is Sweetest Sacrifice |
Annie Fields |
|
English |
“behold another singer!” Criton said,
And sneered, and in his sneering turned the leaf:
“Who reads the poets now? They are past and dead:
Give me for their vain work unrhymed relief.”
A laugh went round. Meanwhile the last ripe sheaf
Of corn was garnered,... |
Song, Youth, and Sorrow |
William Cranston Lawton |
|
English |
Lofty against our Western dawn uprises Achilles:
He among heroes alone singeth or toucheth the lyre.
Few, and dimmed by grief, are the days that to him are appointed!
Love he shall know but to lose, life but to cast it away.
Dreaming of peace and a bride, he... |
Song: Sweetest love I do not go . . . |
John Donne |
1624 |
Love |
Sweetest love, I do not go, For weariness of thee, Nor in hope the world can show A fitter love for me; But since that I Must die at last, 'tis best To use myself in jest Thus by feign'd deaths to die.
Yesternight the sun went hence, And yet is... |
Song: To Celia |
Ben Jonson |
1616 |
Love |
Drink to me, only, with thine eyes, And I will pledge with mine; Or leave a kisse but in the cup, And Ile not look for wine. The thirst, that from the soule doth rise, Doth aske a drink divine: But might I of Jove's Nectar sup, I would not change for thine.... |
Song: “A weary lot is thine, fair maid” |
Sir Walter Scott |
1791 |
English |
“a Weary lot is thine, fair maid,
A weary lot is thine!
To pull the thorn thy brow to braid,
And press the rue for wine!
A lightsome eye, a soldier’s mien,
A feather of the blue,
A doublet of the Lincoln green—
No more of me you... |
Song: “Ask me no more where Jove bestows” |
Thomas Carew |
1615 |
English |
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 do stray
The golden atoms of the day;
For in pure love heaven did prepare... |
Song: “He that is down need fear no fall” |
John Bunyan |
1648 |
English |
He that is down need fear no fall;
He that is low, no pride;
He that is humble ever shall
Have God to be his guide.
I am content with what I have,
Little be it or much;
And, Lord, contentment still I crave,
Because thou savest... |
Song: “It is the miller’s daughter” |
Alfred, Lord Tennyson |
|
English |
From “The Miller’s Daughter”
IT is the miller’s daughter,
And she is grown so dear, so dear,
That I would be the jewel
That trembles at her ear:
For, hid in ringlets day and night,
I ’d touch her neck so warm and white.
And I would be... |
Song: “Love still has something” |
Sir Charles Sedley |
1659 |
English |
Love still has something of the sea,
From whence his Mother rose;
No time his slaves from love can free,
Nor give their thoughts repose.
They are becalmed in clearest days,
And in rough weather tost;
They wither under cold delays,... |
Song: “She ’s somewhere in the sunlight strong” |
Richard Le Gallienne |
|
English |
She ’s somewhere in the sunlight strong,
Her tears are in the falling rain,
She calls me in the wind’s soft song,
And with the flowers she comes again.
Yon bird is but her messenger,
The moon is but her silver car;
Yea! sun and moon are... |
Song: “The bride she is winsome and bonny” |
Joanna Baillie |
1782 |
English |
From an Old Song, “Woo’d and Married and a’”
THE BRIDE she is winsome and bonny,
Her hair it is snooded sae sleek,
And faithfu’ and kind is her Johnny,
Yet fast fa’ the tears on her cheek.
New pearlins 1 are cause of her sorrow,
New pearlins... |
Song: “The shape alone let others prize” |
Mark Akenside |
1741 |
English |
The Shape alone let others prize,
The features of the fair:
I look for spirit in her eyes,
And meaning in her air.
A damask cheek, an ivory arm,
Shall ne’er my wishes win:
Give me an animated form,
That speaks a mind within. ... |
Song: “The year ’s at the spring” |
Robert Browning |
1832 |
English |
From “Pippa Passes”
THE YEAR ’S at the spring,
And day ’s at the morn;
Morning ’s at seven;
The hill-side ’s dew-pearled;
The lark ’s on the wing;
The snail ’s on the thorn;
God ’s in His heaven—
All ’s right with the world.
|
Songe |
Charles Van Lerberghe |
1884 |
French |
Sur mes seins, mes mains endormies, Lasses des jeux et des fuseaux, Mes blanches mains, mes mains amies Semblent dormir au fond des eaux.
Loin des peines tristes et vaines, En ce trône de ma beauté, Calmes, lentes et frêles reines, Mes mains songent... |
Songe |
Pierre de Marbeuf |
1621 |
French |
Cet Hiver en dormant je songe que ma flore, Voulant récompenser mes peines et mes pleurs, Me caresse, me baise, et me promet encore De me garder le fruit de ces premières fleurs.
Ainsi durant la nuit se lève mon aurore, Afin de m'assurer que les destins... |
Songe agréable |
Joseph Quesnel |
1778 |
French |
Une nuit que le dieu Morphée, Sur ma paupière comprimée Distillait ses plus doux pavots, Je vis en songe dans la nue, Un vieillard à tête chenue, Qui me fit entendre des mots :
Bellone va fuir exilée, L'Europe de sang abreuvée La repousse au fond des... |
Songe d’été |
Charles Cros |
1862 |
French |
À d’autres les ciels bleus ou les ciels tourmentés,
La neige des hivers, le parfum des étés,
Les monts où vous grimpez, fiertés aventurières
Des Anglaises. Mes yeux aiment mieux les clairières
Où la charcuterie a laissé ses papiers,
Les sentiers où l’on... |
Songe d’hiver |
Théodore de Banville |
1889 |
French |
A sad tale’s best for winter ;
I have one of spirits and goblins.
Shakspere, Winter’s tale. Act.II, scène I.
I
Dans nos longs soirs d’hiver, où, chez le bon Armand,
Dans notre farniente adorable et charmant
On oubliait... |
Songe, songe Mortel, que tu n'es rien que cendre |
Charles Vion d'Alibray |
1620 |
French |
Songe, songe Mortel, que tu n'es rien que cendre Et l'asseuré butin d'un funeste cercueil, Porte haut tes desseins, porte haut ton orgueil, Au gouffre du neant il te faudra descendre.
Qu'est enfin un Cesar, et qu'est un Alexandre Dont les armes ont mis tant de... |