1645. The Dream In deserts where no men abide, Thou must have uncommended died. Small is the worth Of beauty from the light retired: Bid her come forth, Suffer herself to be desired, And not blush so to be admired. Then die-that she The common fate of all things rare How small a part of time they share That are so wondrous sweet and fair! 20 Thomas Waller, THE DREAM DEAR love, for nothing less than thee For reason, much too strong for fantasy. As lightning, or a taper's light, Thine eyes, and not thy noise, waked me; For thou lov'st truth-an angel, at first sight; And knew'st my thoughts beyond an angel's art, knew'st when Excess of joy would wake me, and cam'st then, I must confess it could not choose but be Profane to think thee anything but thee. Coming and staying show'd thee thee, 20 That Love is weak where Fear 's as strong as he; 'T is not all spirit pure and brave If mixture it of Fear, Shame, Honour have. TO CHLORIS From The Mulberry Garden Ан, Chloris! that I now could sit Your infant beauty could beget No pleasure, nor no pain. To Chloris When I the dawn used to admire, I little thought the growing fire Your charms in harmless childhood lay, Like metals in the mine; Age from no face took more away, Than youth concealed in thine. But as your charms insensibly Fond Love as unperceived did fly, My passion with your beauty grew, Each gloried in their wanton part: Though now I slowly bend to love If your fair self my chains approve, 8 12 16 20 24 28 Lovers, like dying men, may well At first disordered be, Since none alive can truly tell Ан, how sweet it is to love! Sighs which are from lovers blown Cure, like trickling balm, their smart. Love and Time with reverence use, Which in youth sincere they send: Song Love, like spring-tides full and high, 'T is but rain, and runs not clear. 1670. SONG 24 John Dryden. From Abdelazar LOVE in fantastic triumph sate, Whilst bleeding hearts around him flow'd, For whom fresh pains he did create, And strange tyrannic power he show'd: From thy bright eyes he took his fires, Which round about in sport he hurl'd; But 't was from mine he took desires Enough t' undo the amorous world. From me he took his sighs and tears, But my poor heart alone is harm'd, 1677. Aphra Behn. 8 16 |