To CASTARA,

Of his being in Love.

Where am I? not in Heaven: for oh I feele
The Stone of Sisiphus, Ixions wheele;
And all those tortures, Poets (by their wine
Made judges) laid on Tantalus , are mine.
Nor yet am I in hell; for still I stand,
Though giddy in my passion, on firme land.
And still behold the seasons of the yeare,
Springs in my hope, and Winters in my feare.
And sure I'me 'bove the earth: For th' highest star
Shoots beames, but dim, to what Castara's are,
And in her sight and favour I even shine

You who are earth, and cannot rise
  Above your sence,
Boasting the envyed wealth which lyes
Bright in your Mistris lips or eyes,
Betray a pittyed eloquence.

That which doth joyne our soules, so light
  And quicke doth move.
That like the Eagle in his flight,
It doth transcend all humane sight,
Lost in the element of Love.

You Poets reach not this, who sing
  The praise of dust
But kneaded, when by theft you bring
The rose and Lilly from the Spring
T'adorne the wrinckled face of lust.

Dost not thou Castara read
Am'rous volumes in my eyes?
Doth not every motion plead
What I'de shew, and yet disguise?
 Sences act each others part.
 Eyes, as tongues, reveale the heart. CAST .

I saw love as lightning breake
From thy eyes, and was content
Oft to heare thy silence speake.
Silent love is eloquent.
 So the sence of learning heares,
 The dumbe musicke of the Spheares. ARAPH .

Then there's mercy in your kinde,
Listning to an unfain'd love.
Or strives he to tame the wind,
Who would your compassion move?

Kind lovers, love on,
Lest the world be undone,
And mankind be lost by degrees:
For if all from their loves
Should go wander in groves,
There soon would be nothing but trees.

Pity, pity, pity,
Pity, pity, pity,
That word begins that ends a true love ditty.
Your blessid eyes, like a pair of suns,
Shine in the sphere of smiling;
Your pretty lips, like a pair of doves,
Are kisses still compiling.
Mercy hangs upon your brow, like a precious jewel;

Youth's the Season made for Joys,
Love is then our Duty,
She alone who that employs,
Well deserves her Beauty.
Let's be gay,
While we may,
Beauty's a Flower, despis'd in decay.
Youth's the Season made for Joys,
Love is then our Duty.

Let us drink and sport to-day,
Ours is not to-morrow.
Love with Youth flies swift away,
Age is nought but Sorrow.
Dance and sing,
Time's on the Wing,
Life never knows the return of Spring.
Let us drink and sport to-day,
Ours is not to-morrow.

I love my love with a v
Because it is like that
I love my love with a b
Because I am beside that
A king.
I love my love with an a
Because she is a queen
I love my love and a a is the best of them
Think well and be a king,
Think more and think again
I love my love with a dress and a hat
I love my love and not with this or with that
I love my love with a y because she is my bride
I love her with a d because she is my love beside
Thank you for being there
Nobody has to care
Thank you for being here
Because you are not there.

1:Is it the wind of the dawn that I hear in the pine overhead?
2:No; but the voice of the deep as it hollows the cliffs of the land.
1:Is there a voice coming up with the voice of the deep from the strand,
One coming up with a song in the flush of the glimmering red?
2:Love that is born of the deep coming up with the sun from the sea.
1:Love that can shape or can shatter a life till the life shall have fled?
2:Nay, let us welcome him, Love that can lift up a life from the dead.
1:Keep him away from the lone little isle. Let us be, let us be.

Yet each man kills the thing he loves,
By each let this be heard,
Some do it with a bitter look,
Some with a flattering word.
The coward does it with a kiss,
The brave man with a sword!

Some kill their love when they are young,
And some when they are old;
Some strangle with the hands of lust,
Some with the hands of gold:
The kindest use a knife, because
The dead so soon grow cold.

Some love too little, some too long,
Some sell, and others buy;
Some do the deed with many tears,
And some without a sigh:

Love's Perversity

How strange a thing a lover seems
To animals that do not love!
Lo, where he walks and talks in dreams,
And flouts us with his Lady's glove;
How foreign is the garb he wears;
And how his great devotion mocks
Our poor propriety, and scares
The undevout with paradox!
His soul, through scorn of worldly care,
And great extremes of sweet and gall,
And musing much on all that's fair,