This morning, timely rapt with hol… I thought to form unto my zealous… What kind of creature I could mos… To honour, serve, and love; as poe… I meant to make her fair, and free…

Follow a shaddow, it still flies y… Seeme to flye it, it will pursue: So court a mistris, she denies you… Let her alone, she will court you. Say, are not women truly, then,

HIGH-SPIRITED friend, I send nor balms nor cor’sives to… Your fate hath found A gentler and more agile hand to t… The cure of that which is but corp…

Still to be neat, still to be dres… As you were going to a feast; Still to be powder’d, still perfum… Lady, it is to be presum’d, Though art’s hid causes are not fo…

Drink to me only with thine eyes, And I will pledge with mine; Or leave a kiss but in the cup, And I’ll not look for wine. The thirst that from the soul doth…

When men a dangerous disease did '… Of old, they gave a cock to Aescu… Let me give two, that doubly am go… From my disease’s danger, and from…

Donne, the delight of Phoebus and… Who, to thy one, all other brains… Whose every work of thy most early… Came forth example, and remains so… Longer a-knowing than most wits do…

Not to know vice at all, and keep… Is virtue and not fate: Next to that virtue, is to know vi… And her black spite expel. Which to effect (since no breast i…

Follow a shadow, it still flies yo… Seem to fly it, it will pursue: So court a mistress, she denies yo… Let her alone, she will court you. Say, are not women truly then

Kim, composite of all my loves, less real than most, more real tha… of my making, all the good and some of the bad, yet of yourself; sole, unique, strong, alone,

Madame, VVhil’st that, for which all vert… And almost every vice, almightie g… That which, to boote with hell, is… And for it, life, conscience, yea…

Queen and huntress, chaste and fai… Now the sun is laid to sleep, Seated in thy silver chair State in wonted manner keep: Hesperus entreats thy light,

THE faery beam upon you, The stars to glister on you; A moon of light In the noon of night, Till the fire-drake hath o’ergone…

Let it not your wonder move, Less your laughter, that I love. Though I now write fifty years, I have had, and have, my peers. Poets, though divine, are men;

Though beauty be the mark of prais… And yours of whom I sing be such As not the world can praise too mu… Yet ’tis your virtue now I raise. A virtue, like allay, so gone