#EnglishWriters
Life is a crooked Labyrinth, and… Are daily lost in that Obliquity. ’Tis a perplexed circle, in whose… Nothing but sorrows and new sins a… How is the faint impression of eac…
Perhaps ’twas but conceit. Errone… Thou art thine own distemper and o… Imagine then, that sick unwholsom… Was thy corruption breath’d into a… Nor is it strange, when we in char…
Go thou that vainly do’st mine eye… To taste the softer comforts of th… And bid’st me cool the feaver of m… In those sweet balmy dewes which s… Enjoy thine own peace in untrouble…
My dearest Love! when thou and I… And th’ icy hand of death shall se… Which is all thine; within some sp… Ile leave no blanks for Legacies… Tis my ambition to die one of thos…
Like to the falling of a star, Or as the flights of eagles are, Or like the fresh spring’s gaudy h… Or silver drops of morning dew, Or like a wind that chafes the flo…
In this small Character is sent My Loves eternal Monument. Whil’st we shall live, know, this… Is our affections counter-part. And if we never meet, think I
Fair one, why cannot you an old ma… He may as useful, and more constan… Experience shews you that maturer… Are a security against those fears Youth will expose you to; whose wi…
Ill busi’d man! why should’st thou… To lengthen out thy life’s short c… When ev’ry spectacle thou lookst u… Presents and acts thy execution. Each drooping season and each flow…
Like a cold fatal sweat which ushe… My thoughts hang on me, & my l… Stopt up with sighs, my fancie big… Feels two twinn’d mountains strugg… Of boundless sorrow one, t’other o…
Tell me you stars that our affecti… Why made ye me that cruell one to… Why burnes my heart her scorned sa… Whose breast is hard as Chrystall… God of Desire! if all thy Votarie…
MY once dear love, hapless that I… Must call thee so, the rich affect… That fed our hope lies now exhaust… Like sums of treasure unto bankrup… We, that did nothing study but the…
VVhen your fair hand receives thi… You must not there for prose or ve… Those empty regions which within y… May by your self planted and peopl… And though we scarce allow your se…
Now that each feather’d Chorister… The glad approches of the welcome… Now PhÅbus darts forth his more… And dips it later in the curled st… I should to custome prove a retrog…
This Pile thou seest built out of… Contains no shroud within, nor mou… This bloodless Trunk is destitute… Which may the Soul-fled Mansion e… This seeming Sepulchre (to tell t…
Piensan los Enamorados Que tienen los otros, los oios que… Why slightest thou what I approve… Thou art no Peer to try my love, Nor canst discern where her form l…