Lesbia! since far from you I've ranged,
Our souls with fond affection glow not;
You say 'tis I, not you, have changed,
I'd tell you why,--but yet I know not.

Your polish'd brow no cares have crost;
And, Lesbia! we are not much older,
Since, trembling, first my heart I lost,
Or told my love, with hope grown bolder

Sixteen was then our utmost age,
Two years have lingering past away, love!
And now new thoughts our minds engage,
At least I feel disposed to stray, love!

'Tis I that am alone to blame,

At length must Suffolk beauties shine in vain,
So long renown'd in B-n's deathless strain?
Thy charms at least, fair Firebrace, might inspire
Some zealous bard to wake the sleeping lyre:
For such thy beauteous mind and lovely face,
Thou seem'st at once, bright nymph, a
Muse and Grace
.

ON HIS BRINGING ME FLOWERS FROM VAUCLUSE, AND
WHICH HE HAD PRESERVED BY MEANS OF
AN INGENIOUS PROCESS IN THEIR
ORIGINAL BEAUTY.


SWEET spoils of consecrated bowers,
How dear to me these chosen flowers!
I love the simplest bud that blows,
I love the meanest weed that grows:
Symbols of nature--every form
That speaks of her this heart can warm;
But ye, delicious flowers, assume
In fancy's eye a brighter bloom;
A dearer pleasure ye diffuse,
Cull'd by the fountain of Vaucluse!

For ye were nurtur'd on the sod

You say I love not, 'cause I do not play
Still with your curls, and kiss the time away.
You blame me, too, because I can't devise
Some sport, to please those babies in your eyes;
By Love's religion, I must here confess it,
The most I love, when I the least express it.
Shall griefs find tongues; full casks are ever found
To give, if any, yet but little sound.
Deep waters noiseless are; and this we know,
That chiding streams betray small depth below.
So when love speechless is, she doth express
A depth in love, and that depth bottomless.

Now Serena be not coy,
Since we freely may enjoy
Sweet embraces, such delights,
As will shorten tedious nights.
Think that beauty will not stay
With you always, but away,
And that tyrannizing face
That now holds such perfect grace
Will both changed and ruined be;
So frail is all things as we see,
So subject unto conquering Time.
Then gather flowers in their prime,
Let them not fall and perish so;
Nature her bounties did bestow
On us that we might use them, and
'Tis coldness not to understand

(With his first book of 'Songs')

'MY Sweet, my Child, through all this night
Of dark and wind and rain,
Where thunder crashes, and the light
Sears the bewildered brain,
'It is your Face, your lips, your eyes
I see rise up; I hear
Your Voice that sobs and calls and cries,
Or shrills and mocks at fear.
'O this that's mine is yours as well,
For side by side our feet
Trod through these bitter brakes of hell.
Take it, my Child, my Sweet!'

I DO confess thou'rt smooth and fair,
And I might have gone near to love thee,
Had I not found the slightest prayer
That lips could move, had power to move thee;
But I can let thee now alone
As worthy to be loved by none.

I do confess thou'rt sweet; yet find
Thee such an unthrift of thy sweets,
Thy favours are but like the wind
That kisseth everything it meets:
And since thou canst with more than one,
Thou'rt worthy to be kiss'd by none.

The morning rose that untouch'd stands
Arm'd with her briers, how sweet she smells!

I PRAY thee, leave, love me no more,
   Call home the heart you gave me!
I but in vain that saint adore
   That can but will not save me.
These poor half-kisses kill me quite--
   Was ever man thus served?
Amidst an ocean of delight
   For pleasure to be starved?

Show me no more those snowy breasts
   With azure riverets branched,
Where, whilst mine eye with plenty feasts,
   Yet is my thirst not stanched;

To him who ever thought with love of me
Or ever did for my sake some good deed
I will appear, looking such charity
And kind compassion, at his life’s last need
That he will out of hand and heartily
Repent he sinned and all his sins be freed.

Hester, creature of my love,
What is this? You love not me?
On the stair you stand above,
Looking down distrustfully
With the corners of your eyes
Watching me in mute surprise,
Me, your father, only me.

Hester, why this foolish terror,
You who know me and my ways?
Was my love so writ in error
That it needed your disgrace?
Is your doubt of locks grown thin
Or the beard which hides his chin
His, your father's chin and face?

Hester, we were fools of passion
When our last goodbyes were smiled.