| O Joy of creation, ...... To be! O rapture, to fly ...... And be free! Be the battle lost or won, Though its smoke shall hide the sun, I shall find my love--the one ...... Born for me! I shall know him where he stands ...... All alone, With the power in his hands ...... Not e'erthrown; I shall know him by his face, By his godlike front and grace; I shall hold him for a space ...... All my own! ....... from What the Bullet sang by Bret Hart (1836-1902) What is so sweet and dear .. .As a prosperous morn in May, .. .The confident prime of the day, And the dauntless youth of the year, When nothing that asks for bliss, .. .Asking aright, is denied, And half of the world a bridegroom is, And half of the world a bride? .... from Ode in May by Sir William Watson (1858-1935) Between your sheets you soundly sleep Nor dream of vigils that we lovers keep While all the night, I waking sigh your name, The tender sound does every nerve inflame, Imagination shows me all your charms, The plenteous silken hair, and waxen arms, And all the beauties that supinely rest ...... between your sheets. 16 Ah Lindamira, could you see my heart, How fond, how true, how free from fraudful art, The warmest glances poorly do explain The eager wish, the melting throbbing pain Which through my very blood and soul I feel, Which you cannot believe nor I reveal, Which every metaphor must render less And yet (methinks) which I could well express ...... between your sheets. .... Between Your Sheets by Lady Mary Wortley Mantagu (1689- 1762) Love is a bog, a deep bog, a wide bog. Love is a clog, a great clog, a close clog. 'Tis a wilderness to lose ourselves. ...Then draw Dun out o' the mire ...And throw the clog into the fire. ...Keep in the King's Highway, ...And sober, you cannot stray. Then if you admire no female elf The halter may go hang itself. Drink wine and be merry, for love is a folly And dwells in the house of melancholy. ...... Love is a bog by James Shirley I wander'd lonely as a cloud ...That floats on high o'er vales and hills, When all at once I saw a crowd, ...A host, of golden daffodils; Beside the lake, beneath the trees, Fluttering and dancing in the breeze. Continuous as the stars that shine ...And twinkle on the Milky Way, They stretch'd in never-ending line ...Along the margin of a bay; Ten thousand saw I at a glance, Tossing their heads in sprightly dance. The waves beside them danced, but they ....Out-did the sparkling waves in glee; A poet could not but be gay, ...In such a jocund company: I gazed--and gazed--but little thought What wealth the show to me had brought: 17 For oft, when on my couch I lie .. .In vacant or in pensive mood, They flash upon that inward eye .. .Which is the bliss of solitude; And then my heart with pleasure fills, And dances with the daffodils. .......... Daffodils by William Wordsworth (1770-1850) When, Celia, must my old day set, ...And my young morning rise In beams of joy so bright as yet ...Ne'er bless'd a lover's eyes? My state is more advanced than when ...I first attempted thee: I sued to be a servant then, ...But now to be made free. I've served my time faithful and true, ...Expecting to be placed In happy freedom, as my due, ...To all the joys thou hast; Ill husbandry in love is such ...A scandal to love's power, We ought not to misspend so much ...As one poor short-lived hour. Yet think not, sweet, I'm weary grown, ...That I pretend such haste; Since none to surfeit e'er was known ...Before he had a taste: My infant love could humbly wait ...When, young, it scarce knew how To plead; but grown to man's estate, ...He is impatient now. ...... To Celia by Charles Cotton (1630-1687) I will not give thee all my heart For that I need a place apart To dream my dreams in, and I know Few sheltered ways for dreams to go: But when I shut the door upon Some secret wonder--still, withdrawn--Why does thou love me even more, And hold me closer than before? 18 When I of love demand the least, Thou biddest him to fire and feast: When I am hungry and would eat, There is no bread, though crusts were sweet. If I with manna may be fed, Shall I go all uncomforted? Nay! Howsoever dear thou art, I will not give thee all my heart. ...... I Will Not Give Thee All My Heart by Grace Hazard Conkling Let other beauties have the power To make one lovesick for an hour, Perhaps for a whole day or two, But so to captivate a heart That it shall never, never part: Only that power remains in you. Let other beauties have the skill By tempering smiles some fears to kill And by degrees a heart undo. But with a sweet yet tyrant eye At once to bid one look and die: None has that art but only you. Fair wonder, to those flaming eyes A heart I fain would sacrifice If I had e'er a one in store, But having lost mine long before, Well may I sigh, wish and adore, But for my life can die no more. ....... Let other beauties by Anonymous When poor, and moneys nowhere can obtain, Thy love to me is more than th'Indias' gain. When I am starved for want of daily bread Thy love doth fill me more than when I'm fed. When I am thirsty, almost dead, I think Thy love doth quench me so, ne'er wish for drink. And when I'm naked, what doth thy love do? Even feed the hungry, cloth the naked too. 19 I prithee, do thus with the army all As thou hast done with their Lord General. ......... When poor by John Gamble How hardly I concealed my tears, ...How oft did I complain! When, many tedious days, my fears ...Told me I loved in vain. But now my joys as wild are grown, ...And hard to be concealed; Sorrow may make a silent moan, ...But joy will be revealed. I tell it to the bleating flocks, ...To every stream and tree; And bless the hollow murmuring rocks ...For echoing back to me. Thus you may see with how much joy ...We want, we wish, believe; 'Tis hard such passion to destroy ...But easy to deceive. ..... Song by Anne Wharton (?1659-85) Surprised by joy--impatient as the Wind I turned to share the transport--O! with whom ...But Thee, deep buried in the silent tomb, That spot which no vicissitude can find? Love, faithful love, recall'd thee to my mind-‑ ...But how could I forget thee? Through what power, ...Even for the least division of an hour, Have I been so beguiled as to be blind To my most grievous loss?--That thought's return ...Was the worst pang that sorrow ever bore, Save one, one only, when I stood forlorn, ...Knowing my heart's best treasure was no more; That neither present time, nor years unborn ...Could to my sight that heavenly face restore. ....... Desideria by William Wordsworth (1770-1850) |
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