I copyed all the poems contented in this page while I still was in school...
Btw. my school had a great library !!!!
With some pacience and with a little helping hand I was able to find some masterpeaces.
I said too much now... Let words char you.
A True-Love Hath My Heart
My true-love hath my heart, and I have his,
But just exchange one for another given:
I hold his dear, and mine he cannot miss,
There neverwas a better bargain driven:]
My true-love hath my heart, and I have his.
His haert in me keeps him and me in one,
My heart in him his thoughts and senses guides
He loves my heart, for once it was his own,
I cherish his because in me it bides:
My true-love hath my heart, and I have his.
Sir Philip Sidney (1554-1586)
from SONNTES
29
When in disgrace with fortune and men's eyes
I all alone beweep my outcast state,
And trouble deaf heaven with my bottles cries,
And look upon myself, and curse my fate,
Wishing me like to one more rich hope,
Featured like him, like him with friends possessed,
Desiring this man's art, and what man's scope,
With what I most enjoy contented least;
Yet in these thoughts myself almost despising,
Haply I think on thee, - and then my state,
Like to the lark at break of day arising
From sullen earth, sings hymns at heaven's gate;
For thy sweet love remembered such wealth brings
That then I scorn to change my state with kings.
William Shakespeare (1564-1616)
There Is A Garden In Her Face
There is a garden in her face,
Where roses and white lilies grow;
A hevenly paradise is that place,
Wherein all pleasant fruits do flow.
There cherries grow which none may but
Till cherry-ripe themselves do cry.
Those cherries fairly do enclose
Of orient pearl a double row,
Which when her lovely laughter shows,
They look like rosebuds filled with snow.
Yet them nor peer nor price can buy,
Till cherry-ripe themselvesn do cry.
Her eyes like angels watch them still;
Her brows like bended brows do stand,
Threat'ning with piercing frowns to kill
All that attempt with eye or hand
Those sacred cherries to come nigh,
Till cherry-ripe themselves do cry.
William Shakespeare (1564-1616)
My Sweetest Lesbia
My sweetest Lesbia, let us live and love,
And though the sager sort our deeds reprove,
Let us not weigh them. Heaven's great lamps do drive
Into their west, ans straight again revive,
But soon as once, set is our little light,
Then must we sleep one ever-during night.
If all would lead their lives in love like me,
Then bloody swords and armour should not be;
No drum nor trumpet peaceful sleeps should move,
Unless alarm came from the camp of love.
But fools do live, and waste their little light,
And seek with pain their ever-during night.
When timely death my life and fortune ends,
Let not my hearse be vexed with mourning friends,
But let all lovers, rich in triumph, come
And with sweet pastimes grace my happy tomb;
And Lesbia, close up thou my little light,
And crown with love my ever-during night.
Thomas Campion(1567-1620)
from SONNETS FROM THE PORTUGUESE
14
If thou must love me, let it be for nought
Except for love's sake only. Do not say
"I love her for her smile ... her look ... her way
Of speaking gently, ... for a trick of thought
That falls in well with mine, and certes brought
A sense of pleasant ease on sich a day"-
For these things in themselves, Belovèd, may
Be changed, or change for thee, - and love, so wrought,
May be unwroughtso. Neither love me for
Thine own dear pity's wiping my cheeks dry,-
A creature might forget to weep, who bore
Thy comfort long, and lose thy love thereby!
But love me for love's sake, that evermore
Thou may'st love on, though love's eternity.
43
How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.
I love thee to the depth and breadth and height
My soul can reach, when feelin out of sight
For the ends of Being and ideal Grace.
I love thee to the level of every day's
Most quiet need, by sun and candlelight.
I love thee freely, as men strive for Right;
I love thee purely, as they turn from Paradise.
I love thee with the passion put to use
In my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith.
I love thee with a love that saints,-I love thee with the breath,
Smiles, tears, of all my life!- and if God choose,
I shall but love thee better after death.
Elizabeth Barret Browining (1806-1861)
