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A Complaint (William Wordsworth)
There is a change-and I am poor;
Your love hath been, nor long ago,
A fountain at my fond heart's door,
Whose only business was to flow;
And flow it did; not taking heed
Of its own bounty, or my need.
What happy moments did I count!
Blest was I then all bliss above!
Now, for that consecrated fount
Of murmuring, sparkling, living love,
What have I? shall I dare to tell?
A comfortless and hidden well.
A well of love-it may be deep
I trust it is,-and never dry:
What matter? if the waters sleep
In silence and obscurity.
- Such change, and at the very door
Of my fond heart, hath made me poor.
Balade (Geoffrey Chaucer)
Hide, Absalom, thy gilte tresses clear;
Esther, lay thou thy meekness all a-down;
Hide, Jonathan, all thy friendly manner;
Penelope and Marcia Catoun
Make of your wifehood no comparison;
Hide ye your beauties, Isolde and Elaine:
My lady com'th, that all this may distain.
Thy faire body let it not appear,
Lavine; and thou, Lucrece of Rome town,
And Polixene, that boughten love so dear,
And Cleopatre, with all thy passion,
Hide ye your truth of love and your renown;
And thou, Thisbe, that hast for love such pain:
My lady com'th, that all this may distain.
Hero, Dido, Laodamia, all y-fere,
And Phyllis, hanging for thy Demophon,
And Canace, espied by thy chere,
Hypsipyle, betraysed with Jason,
Make of your truthe neither boast ne soun;
Nor Hypermestre or Ariadne, ye twain:
My lady com'th, that all this may distain.
Silvia (William Shakespeare)
Who is Silvia? What is she?
That all our swains commend her?
Holy, fair, and wise is she;
The heaven such grace did lend her,
That she might admired be.
Is she kind as she is fair?
For beauty lives with kindness:
Love doth to her eyes repair,
To help him of his blindness;
And, being help'd, inhabits there.
Then to Silvia let us sing,
That Silvia is excelling;
She excels each mortal thing
Upon the dull earth dwelling:
To her let us garlands bring.
Farewell, Ungrateful Traitor (John Dryden)
Farewell, ungrateful traitor,
Farewell, my perjured swain,
Let never injured creature
Believe a man again.
The pleasure of possessing
Surpasses all expressing,
But 'tis too short a blessing,
And love too long a pain.
'Tis easy to deceive us
In pity of your pain,
But when we love you leave us
To rail at you in vain.
Before we have descried it
There is no bliss beside it,
But she that once has tried it
Will never love again.
The passion you pretended
Was only to obtain,
But when the charm is ended
The charmer you disdain.
Your love by ours we measure
Till we have lost our treasure,
But dying is a pleasure,
When living is a pain.
Never Seek to Tell Thy Love (William Blake)
Never seek to tell thy love
Love that never told can be;
For the gentle wind does move
Silently, invisibly.
I told my love, I told my love,
I told her all my heart,
Trembling, cold, in ghastly fears
Ah, she doth depart.
Soon as she was gone from me
A traveller came by
Silently, invisibly -
O, was no deny.
La Belle Dame Sans Merci (John Keats)
`O what can ail thee, knight-at-arms,
Alone and palely loitering?
The sedge has withered from the lake,
And no birds sing.
`O what can ail thee, knight-at-arms,
So haggard and so woe-begone?
The squirrel's granary is full,
And the harvest's done.
`I see a lily on thy brow
With anguish moist and fever dew;
And on thy cheek a fading rose
Fast withereth too.'
`I met a lady in the meads,
Full beautiful-a faery's child,
Her hair was long, her foot was light,
And her eyes were wild.
`I made a garland for her head,
And bracelets too, and fragrant zone;
She looked at me as she did love,
And made sweet moan.
I set her on my pacing steed
And nothing else saw all day long,
For sideways would she lean, and sing
A faery's song.
`She found me roots of relish sweet,
And honey wild and manna dew,
And sure in language strange she said,
"I love thee true!"
`She took me to her elfin grot,
And there she wept and sighed full sore;
And there I shut her wild, wild eyes
With kisses four.
And there she lulled me asleep,
And there I dreamed-Ah! woe betide!
The latest dream I ever dreamed
On the cold hill's side.
`I saw pale kings and princes too,
Pale warriors, death-pale were they all;
Who cried-Ma belle Dame sans Merci
Hath thee in thrall!"
`I saw their starved lips in the gloam
With horrid warning gaped wide,
And I awoke and found me here
On the cold hill's side.
`And this is why I sojourn here
Alone and palely loitering,
Though the sedge is withered from the lake,
And no birds sing.'
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