Song
Go, lovely rose!
Tell her that wastes her time and me,
That now she knows,
. . .
Go, lovely rose!
Tell her that wastes her time and me,
That now she knows,
. . .
Ravished lute, sing to her virgin ears,
Soft notes thy strings repeating;
Plucked harp, whose amorous song she hears, . . .
There's a place I know where the birds swing low,
And wayward vines go roaming,
Where the lilacs nod, and a marble god . . .
I’ve stayed in the front yard all my life.
I want a peek at the back
Where it’s rough and untended and hungry weed grows. . . .
Drink to me only with thine eyes,
And I will pledge with mine;
Or leave a kiss but in the cup,
. . .
Come, my Celia, let us prove,
While we can, the sports of love;
Time will not be ours forever;
. . .
Loving in truth, and fain in verse my love to show,
That the dear She might take some pleasure of my pain,
Pleasure might cause her read, reading might make her know, . . .
Not marble nor the gilded monuments
Of princes shall outlive this powerful rhyme,
But you shall shine more bright in these contents
. . .
While one sere leaf, that parting Autumn yields,
Trembles upon the thin, and naked spray,
November, dragging on this sunless day, . . .
On the fleet streams, the Sun, that late arose,
In amber radiance plays; the tall young grass
No foot hath bruised; clear morning, as I pass, . . .