Love guards the roses of thy lips
And flies about them like a bee;
If I approach he forward skips,
And if I kiss he stingeth me.
Love in thine eyes doth build his bower,
And sleeps within their pretty shine;
And if I look the boy will lower,
And from their orbs shoot shafts divine.
Love works thy heart within his fire,
And in my tears...
Fair is my love, but not so fair as fickle;
Mild as a dove, but neither true nor trusty;
Brighter than glass, and yet, as glass is, brittle;
Softer than wax, and yet, as iron, rusty:
A lily pale, with damask dye to grace her,
None fairer, nor none falser to deface her.
Her lips to mine how often hath she join’d,
Between each kiss her oaths of true...
My love is like to ice, and I to fire:
How come it then that this her cold is so great
Is not dissolved through my so hot desire,
But harder grows the more I her entreat?
Or how comes it that my exceeding heat
Is not allayed by her heart-frozen cold,
But that I burn much more in boiling sweat,
And feel my flames augmented manifold?
What more miraculous...
Love me not for comely grace
For my pleasing eye or face,
Nor for any outward part,
No, nor for my constant heart.
For those my fail or turn to ill,
So thou and I shall sever.
Keep therefore a true woman's eye,
And love me still, but know not why;
So hast thou the same reason still
To doat upon me ever.
Since there’s not help, come let us kiss and part;
Nay, I am done, you get no more of me;
And I am glad, yea, glad with all my heart,
That thus so cleanly I myself can free;
Shake hands for ever, cancel all our vows,
And when we meet at any time again,
Be it not seen in either of our brows
That we, one jot of former love retain.
Now, at the last gasp of...
O Mistress mine, where are you roaming?
O stay and hear! your true-love’s coming
That can sing both high and low;
Trip no further, pretty sweeting,
Journeys end in lovers’ meeting—
Every wise man’s son doth know.
What is love? ‘tis not hereafter;
Present mirth hath present laughter;
What’s to come is still unsure:
In delay there lies no plenty,—...
To me, fair friend, you never can be old
For as you were when first your eye I ey’d,
Such seems your beauty still. Three winters cold
Have from the forests shook three summers’ pride,
Three beauteous springs to yellow autumn turn’d
In process of the seasons I have seen,
Three April perfumes in three hot Junes burn’d,
Since first I saw you fresh, which yet are...
Ein Edler von Florenz, durch des Geschickes Güte
Mit Gaben jeder Art im Ueberfluß versehn,
Hochsinnig, tüchtig, reich und schön
Und in der Jahre schönster Blüthe,
Von jedem Mädchenblick mit stiller Lust gesehn,
Doch immer kalt dabei, entglühte,
Wie’s edlen Seelen oft geschehn,
Zuletzt für eine Frau, schon einem Andern eigen,
Und ihrem...
XX.
Laß den Vogel hellster Lieder, –
Der in Arabien haus’t allein –
Schwermuthsvollen Herold sein,
Folg’ ihm dann, ein keusch Gefieder!
5 Doch der schreiende Verkünder
Jedes Unglücksfalls und Leidens,
Er, der Bote nahen Scheidens,
Keinen Platz im Zuge find’ er!
Dem Vereine fern soll stehn
10 Jene Vogelschaar, die raubt;...
Die fromme Magd.
Ein fromme Magd von gutem Stand
Geht ihrer Frauen fein zur Hand,
Hält Schüssel, Tisch und Teller weiß
Zu ihrem und der Frauen Preiß.
5 Sie trägt und bringt kein neue Mähr,
Geht still in ihrer Arbeit her,
Ist treu und eines keuschen Muths
Und thut den Kindern alles Guts.
Sie ist auch munter, hurtig,...
