Lapas attēli

But you are lovely leaves, where we
May read how soon things have
Their end, though ne'er so brave:
And after they have shown their pride
Like you, awhile, they glide
Into the grave.


FAIR Daffodils, we weep to see
You haste away so soon:
As yet the early-rising Sun
Has not attained his noon.
Stay, stay,

Until the hasting day

Has run

But to the even-song;

And, having prayed together, we

Will go with you along.

We have short time to stay, as you,
We have as short a Spring;

As quick a growth to meet decay
As you, or any thing.

We die,

As your hours do, and dry


Like to the Summer's rain,

Or as the pearls of morning's dew,
Ne'er to be found again.


WELCOME, Maids of Honour!

You do bring

In the Spring,

And wait upon her.

She has Virgins many,

Fresh and fair;

Yet you are

More sweet than any.

Ye are the Maiden Posies,

And so graced

To be placed

'Fore damask roses.

But, though thus respected,

By and by

Ye do lie,

Poor girls, neglected.


WHY do ye weep, sweet babes? can tears

Speak grief in you,

Who were but born

Just as the modest morn

Teemed her refreshing dew?

Alas, you have not known that shower

That mars a flower;

Nor felt th' unkind

Breath of a blasting wind;

Nor are ye worn with years;

Or warped as we,

Who think it strange to see

Such pretty flowers, like to orphans young,
To speak by tears, before ye have a tongue.

Speak, whimp'ring younglings, and make known The reason, why

Ye droop and weep;

Is it for want of sleep?

Or childish lullaby?

Or that ye have not seen as yet

The violet?

Or brought a kiss

From that sweetheart to this?

No, no, this sorrow shown

By your tears shed,

Would have this lecture read,

That things of greatest, so of meanest, worth, Conceived with care are, and with tears brought forth.


SHUT not so soon; the dull-eyed night

Hath not as yet begun

To make a seizure on the light,
Or to seal up the sun.

No marigolds yet closed are,

No shadows great appear;
Nor doth the early shepherd's star
Shine like a spangle here.

Stay but till my Julia close

Her life-begetting eye,

And let the whole world then dispose
Itself to live or die.


GATHER ye rose-buds while ye may,
Old Time is still a-flying:

And this same flower that smiles to-day
To-morrow will be dying.

The glorious Lamp of Heaven, the Sun,
The higher he's a-getting,

The sooner will his race be run,
And nearer he's to setting.

That age is best which is the first,

When youth and blood are warmer; But being spent, the worse, and worst Times still succeed the former.

Then be not coy, but use your time;
And while ye may, go marry:
For having lost but once your prime,
You may for ever tarry.


A SWEET disorder in the dress
Kindles in clothes a wantonness:-
A lawn about the shoulders thrown
Into a fine distraction,—

An erring lace, which here and there
Enthrals the crimson stomacher,-
A cuff neglectful, and thereby
Ribbands to flow confusedly,-
A winning wave, deserving note
In the tempestuous petticoat,-
A careless shoe-string, in whose tie

I see a wild civility,—

Do more bewitch me, than when art
Is too precise in every part.


WHENAS in silks my Julia goes,
Then, then (methinks) how sweetly flows
That liquefaction of her clothes.

Next, when I cast mine eyes and see
That brave vibration each way free;

O how that glittering taketh me!


GET up, get up for shame! The blooming morn
Upon her wings presents the god unshorn.
See how Aurora throws her fair
Fresh-quilted colours through the air!
Get up, sweet Slug-a-bed, and see

The dew bespangling herb and tree.

Each flower has wept, and bowed toward the east, Above an hour since; yet you not drest

Nay! not so much as out of bed,

When all the birds have matins said,

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