Cyriack, this three years’ day, these eyes, though clear,
To outward view, of blemish or of spot,
Bereft of light, their seeing have forgot:
Nor to their idle orbs doth sight appear
Of sun, or moon, or stars, throughout the year,
Or man or woman, yet I argue not
Against Heaven’s hand or will, nor bate a jot
Of heart or hope; but...
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From the French by Louise Stuart Costello
WHILE yet these tears have power to flow
For hours for ever past away;
While yet these swelling sighs allow
My faltering voice to breathe a lay;
While yet my hand can touch the chords,
My tender lute, to wake thy tone;
While yet my mind no thought affords,
But one remembered... -
(Suggested by Mr. Watts’s Picture of Love and Death)
YEA, Love is strong as life; he casts out fear,
And wrath, and hate, and all our envious foes;
He stands upon the threshold, quick to close
The gate of happiness ere should appear
Death’s dreaded presence—ay, but Death draws near,
And large and gray the towering outline grows,
Whose... -
From “Astrophel and Stella”
LOVING in truth, and fain in verse my love to show,
That she, dear she, might take some pleasure of my pain,—
Pleasure might cause her read, reading might make her know,
Knowledge might pity win, and pity grace obtain,—
I sought fit words to paint the blackest face of woe;
Studying inventions fine, her wits to entertain... -
What is a sonnet? ’T is the pearly shell
That murmurs of the far-off murmuring sea;
A precious jewel carved most curiously;
It is a little picture painted well.
What is a sonnet? ’T is the tear that fell
From a great poet’s hidden ecstasy;
A two-edged sword, a star, a song,—ah me!
Sometimes a heavy-tolling funeral bell.
This was... -
Scorn not the sonnet; critic, you have frowned,
Mindless of its just honors; with this key
Shakespeare unlocked his heart; the melody
Of this small lute gave ease to Petrarch’s wound;
A thousand times this pipe did Tasso sound;
With it Camoëns soothed an exile’s grief;
The sonnet glittered a gay myrtle leaf
Amid the cypress with which... -
Earth has not anything to show more fair;
Dull would he be of soul who could pass by
A sight so touching in its majesty:
This city now doth, like a garment, wear
The beauty of the morning; silent, bare,
Ships, towers, domes, theatres, and temples lie
Open unto the fields, and to the sky,
All bright and glittering in the smokeless air.... -
From “Astrophel and Stella”
WITH how sad steps, O Moon! thou climb’st the skies,
How silently, and with how wan a face!
What may it be, that even in heavenly place
That busy Archer his sharp arrows tries?
Sure, if that long-with-love-acquainted eyes
Can judge of love, thou feel’st a lover’s case;
I read it in thy looks; thy languished... -
Beaux yeux dont la douceur si doucement m'enivre,
Vous produisez des feux qui me vont dévorant :
Beaux yeux, mais ! beaux soleils qui m'allez éclairant,
Vous brûlez, et le ciel me force de vous suivre.
Beaux yeux, dont la clarté du trépas me délivre,
Et du chemin d'erreur où j'allais m'égarant ;
Qui vous voit sans mourir n'est pas digne de vivre,
... -
A Madame N.
Je voudrais, en groupant des souvenirs divers,
Imiter le concert de vos grâces mystiques.
J'y vois, par un soir d'or où valsent les moustiques,
La libellule bleue effleurant les joncs verts ;
J'y vois la brune amie à qui rêvait en vers
Celui qui fit le doux cantique des cantiques ;
J'y vois ces yeux qui, dans des tableaux...