love poem

A Riddle propounded by a Gentleman to a Gentilwoman whom he loued, but was a suter, but secretly
The thing on earth you most desire,
and yet of all you lest would chuse:
That often times you doo require,
and yet I know you will refuse:
And thaThere present you may see
All this is one: what may it be?

Verses written vpon this occasion: a yong Gentleman, falling in loue with a faire yong Damsell, not knowing how to make manifest vnto her the great good will he bare her: vsing certaine talke vnto her, in the end of her talke demaunded of her, whether she could or no? she answered yea: vpon which yea, he wrote these verses following, and found time to present them vnto her presently, as he wrote them.
I F thou canst reade, then marke what heere I write:
And what thou readst, beleeue it to be true;
And doo not thinke, I doo but toyes indite:

The next day after that he had written this passion of Ioue, dyuers Gentle-women being then in the house: he was intreted by two or three of them at once, to make some verses: and one among the rest, being very desirous to haue her request fulfilled, brought him a Pen, and ynke, and Paper: with earnest intreaty, to make some verses, upon what matter he thought best him. selfe: he, very vnwilling to write, not knowing of a sodain, how to please them all in vearse, and yet desirous to graunt all their requests, with much adooe, was in the end intreated to write, as followeth.

THE ARGUMENT

Since that the passing panges of looue,
Which many Loouers ofte doo prooue:
I fynde the cause, from time to time,
That made men shew their mindes in rime
I doo intend, in verses few
A dolorous discourse to shew,
Of one that was bewitcht in looue:
What passing pangues he ofte did prooue
In which God wot the more his paine
Euen till his death he did remaine.

I F I had skill to frame a cunning Vearse

( AFTER AN EVENING SPENT IN READING THE BIG BOYS )

HONEYMOON

Ponder, darling, these busted statues,
Be aware of the forum, sweet;
Feel the centuries tearing at youse —
Don't keep asking me when we eat!

Look, my love, where the hills hang drowsy;
Caesar watched them, a-wondering, here.
Get yon goddesses, chipped and lousy —
Don't be trying to bite my ear!

My friends, I love your fame; I joy to raise
The high toned anthem of my country's praise;
To sing her victories, virtues, wisdom, weal,
Boast with loud voice the patriot pride I feel;
Warm wild I sing; and, to her failings blind,
Mislead myself, perhaps mislead mankind.
Land that I love! is this the whole we owe?
Thy pride to pamper, thy fair face to show;
Dwells there no blemish where such glories shine?
And lurks no spot in that bright sun of thine?
Hark! a dread voice, with heaven-astounding strain,

That wild free song which will not wear a fetter,
Such as was mastered well by loving Shelley
(Pure poet, down-ridden in the world's hot mêlee ),
Or such as Shakespeare uttered, careless setter
In Orient gold of perfect amethysts,
Whom men must marvel at, while the great world exists.

We are led forth amid the mystic moan
Of music sad with love unutterable
To ascend the wide slow stair of carven stone,
So wide a troop of mounted knights were able
To climb it easily. When the door is thrown
Open, I see clad in a cloak of sable
A skeleton form with lurid light above,
Who says, " I am the Lover of thy Love ."

Now with the sound of that great knight's slow saying
I seem to pass back many centuries.
It is another world I am surveying
Than this of comforts and philosophies:
There is a passion-storm the nations swaying
Of Faith that shatters old idolatries,
And a sworn soldier of that Faith am I.
But, " Where is the Lady of my Love? " I cry.

Espilus . Silvanus long in love, and long in vain,
At length obtained the point of his desire,
When being asked, now that he did obtain
His wished weal, what more he could require:
" Nothing," said he, " for most I joy in this,
That goddess mine my blessed being sees."

Therion . When wanton Pan , deceived with lion's skin,
Came to the bed where wound for kiss he got,
To woe and shame the wretch did enter in,