He that looks still on your eyes, Though the winter have begun Shall not want the summer's sun. He that still may see your cheeks, Other lilies, other roses. 12 16 SHALL I tell you whom I love? As I now shall versify, 20 24 6 1616. My Choice Nature did her so much right As she scorns the help of art. As e'er yet embraced a heart. Wit she hath, without desire To make known how much she hath; Than may fitly sweeten wrath. Though perhaps not so to me. Reason masters every sense, Modest in her most of mirth. Such she is; and if you know William Browne, of Tavistock. 12 18 24 30 OVER THE MOUNTAINS OVER the mountains And over the waves, And under the graves; Love will find out the way. When there is no place For the glow-worm to lie, Where there is no space For receipt of a fly; When the midge dares not venture And will find out the way. You may esteem him A child for his might; A coward from his flight; 16 24 Over the Mountains Some think to lose him By having him confined; He will find out his way. You may train the eagle To stoop to your fist; Or you may inveigle The Phoenix of the east; The lioness, you may move her If the earth it should part him, Love will lend wings to follow, There is no striving To cross his intent; There is no contriving His plots to prevent; 32 40 48 But if once the message greet him Early 17th Cent. 56 Anonymous. TO ROSES IN THE BOSOM OF CASTARA YE blushing virgins happy are In the chaste nunnery of her breasts— For he'd profane so chaste a fair, Whoe'er should call them Cupid's nests. Transplanted thus how bright ye grow! How rich a perfume do ye yield! In some close garden cowslips so Are sweeter than i' th' open field. In those white cloisters live secure Till you shall wither into death. Then that which living gave you room, 4 12 1634. Whose breast hath marble been to me. 16 |