Love in a showre of Blossomes came
Down, and halfe drown'd me with the same:
The Blooms that fell were white and red;
But with such sweets commingled,
As whether (this) I cannot tell
My sight was pleas'd more, or my smell:
But true it was, as I rowl'd there,
Without a thought of hurt, or feare;
Love turn'd himselfe into a Bee,
And with his Javelin wounded me:
From which mishap this use I make,
Where most sweets are, there lyes a Snake.
Kisses and Favours are sweet things;
But Those have thorns, and These have stings.

I HAVE been there before thee, O my love!
—Each winding way I know and all the flowers,
The shadowy cypress trees, the twilight grove,
—Where rest, in fragrant sleep, the enchanted hours.

I have been there before thee. At the end
—There stands a gate through which thou too must pass.
When thou shalt reach it, God in mercy send
—Thou say no bitterer word, love, than “Alas!”

Instead of Orient Pearls, of Jet,
I sent my Love a Karkanet:
About her spotlesse neck she knit
The lace, to honour me, or it:
Then think how wrapt was I to see
My Jet t'enthrall such Ivorie.

When lovely woman stoops to folly,
And finds too late that men betray,
What charm can soothe her melancholy,
What art can wash her guilt away?

The only art her guilt to cover,
To hide her shame from every eye,
To give repentance to her lover,
And wring his bosom--is to die.

Bright dames when first we meet unheeded passe
We read frail charms on Monuments of Glasse.

In Joylesse Streams the Purple Chrystall flows
Till each is nam'd for whome each Bosom glows.

Then Friendship Love and Wine Unite their fires
Then all their Homage pay, where each admires.

Love love begets, then never be
Unsoft to him who's smooth to thee.
Tygers and Beares (I've heard some say)
For profer'd love will love repay:
None are so harsh, but if they find
Softnesse in others, will be kind;
Affection will affection move,
Then you must like, because I love.

Her breasts, white nuns
Before her eyes—
O hands be
As the smile on a child's face.
Her knees, pale fruit
Whose seed grew from a wish.
Her thighs, boughs of apple blossoms—
O wind blow not too strong.
Her belly, fairy hill of snow.
Her hair, sunlight
In long pale grass limp with dew.
Her voice, sea-mist, wine, flying birds,
White clouds,
Whispers between earth and sky in spring.

This, my love—
She whom I carry
As a bell carries its tongue.
This, my love—
She who makes my days
A ride in barren fields
That have rich crops

I have read of the sweet olden story,
Of the fair, happy Eden above;
Of the beautiful mansions of glory,
In the bright golden city of love.
Oh, the sweet olden story
Of the fair, happy Eden above;
Of the beautiful mansions of glory,
In the bright golden city of love.
I have read of the clear sparkling river,
Bursting out 'neath the great throne of God;
How its sweet waters glide on forever,
Making glad all the host of the Lord.
I have read how the banks of that river,
By the saints and the angels are trod,
How their glorious anthems forever,

O had I love-inspiring eyes
As brightly blue as summer skies:
Rich locks flowing wave on wave,
Lips ‘whose hue, angry and brave’
Makes the rose less fair to see,
A form of finest symmetry,
Such as angels wear above,—
Then, then I'd pray to be thy love.

O were I of a home possest
Like fabled islands of the blest,
Where nobler woods and purer streams,
And meads enriched with gladder beams
Than earth can boast or poets feign,
Outshone the gold of Saturn's reign,
I'd pray the gods on bended knee
That thou might'st share that home with me.

Sing, oh my soul, to the Lord, thy Redeemer,
Sing of the love that he beareth for thee;
Tell to the world how he scattered the darkness,
Tell how he suffered and died on the tree.
Tell to the world of his blessed salvation,
Tell of the fountain that cleanseth from sin;
Tell of the joy like a deep flowing river,
Filling the heart that has Jesus within.
Sing, oh my soul, of this wonderful Saviour,
Mighty and willing to cleanse and to save;
Tell of his power thy soul to deliver,
Tell how in triumph he conquered the grave.