#EnglishWriters
Bid me to live, and I will live Thy Protestant to be; Or bid me love, and I will give A loving heart to thee. A heart as soft, a heart as kind,
Life is the body’s light; which, o… Those crimson clouds i’ th’ cheeks… Those counter-changed tabbies in t… The sun once set, all of one colou… So, when death comes, fresh tinctu…
Fair pledges of a fruitful tree, Why do ye fall so fast? Your date is not so past, But you may stay yet here a-while, To blush and gently smile;
Great men by small means oft are o… He’s lord of thy life, who contemn…
Gather ye rose-buds while ye may: Old Time is still a-flying; And this same flower that smiles t… To-morrow will be dying. The glorious lamp of heaven, the…
Not all thy flushing suns are set, Herrick, as yet ; Nor doth this far-drawn hemisphere Frown and look sullen ev’rywhere. Days may conclude in nights, and s…
Still to our gains our chief respe… Reward it is that makes us good or…
Let fair or foul my mistress be, Or low, or tall, she pleaseth me; Or let her walk, or stand, or sit, The posture her’s, I’m pleased wi… Or let her tongue be still, or sti…
My Muse in meads has spent her ma… Sitting, and sorting several sorts… To make for others garlands; and t… On many a head here, many a corone… But amongst all encircled here, no…
Charms, that call down the moon fr… On this sick youth work your encha… Bind up his senses with your numbe… As to entrance his pain, or cure h… Fall gently, gently, and a-while h…
Truth by her own simplicity is kno… Falsehood by varnish and vermilion…
Pardon my trespass, Silvia! I co… My kiss out-went the bounds of sha… None is discreet at all times; no,… Himself, at one time, can be wise…
Give way, give way, ye gates, and… An easy blessing to your bin And basket, by our entering in. May both with manchet stand replet… Your larders, too, so hung with me…
Go, pretty child, and bear this fl… Unto thy little Saviour; And tell him, by that bud now blow… He is the Rose of Sharon known. When thou hast said so, stick it t…
What can I do in poetry, Now the good spirit’s gone from me… Why, nothing now but lonely sit And over-read what I have writ.