Twenty-one songs , opus 23

She by the river sat, and sitting there,
She wept, and made it deeper by a tear.

Whenas in silks my Julia goes,
Then, then (methinks) [how]1 sweetly flows
That liquefaction of her clothes. 

Next, when I cast mine eyes, and see
That brave vibration each way free,
O how that glittering taketh me!

Give me a cell
  To dwell,
Where no foot hath
  A path:
There will I spend
  And end
My wearied years
  In tears.

What conscience, say, is it in thee,
When I a heart had one,
To take away that heart from me,
And to retain thy own?
For shame or pity now incline
To play a loving part;
Either to send me kindly thine,
Or give me back my heart.
Covet not both; but if thou dost
Resolve to part with neither,
Why! yet to show that thou art just,
Take me and mine together.

Let's now take our time
While [w'are]1 in our prime,
And old, old age is afar off:
For the evil, evil days
Will come on apace,
Before we can be aware of.

Let fair or foul my mistress be,
Or low, or tall, she pleaseth me;
Or let her walk, or stand, or sit,
The posture hers, I'm pleas'd with it;
Or let her tongue be still, or stir,
Graceful is every thing from her;
Or let her grant, or else deny,
My love will fit each history.

When out of bed my love doth spring,
'Tis but as day a-kindling;
But when she's up and fully dress'd,
'Tis then broad day throughout the east.

Here she lies, a pretty bud,
Lately made of flesh and blood:
Who as soon fell fast asleep
As her little eyes did peep.
Give her strewings but not stir
The earth that lightly covers her.

Dew sat on Julia's hair
And spangled too,
Like leaves that laden are
With trembling dew:
Or glittered to my sight,
As when the beams
Have their reflected light
Danc'd by the streams.

A funeral stone
Or verse I covet none,
But only crave
Of you that I may have
A sacred laurel springing from my grave:
Which being seen,
Blest with perpetual green,
May grow to be
Not so much call'd a tree
As the eternal monument of me.

When a daffodil I see,
Hanging down his head towards me,
Guess I may what I must be:
First, I shall decline my head;
Secondly, I shall be dead;
Lastly, safely buried.

— This text is not currently
in the database but will be added
as soon as we obtain it. —

From this bleeding hand of mine
Take this sprig of eglantine,
Which, though sweet unto your smell,
Yet the fretful briar will tell,
He who plucks the sweets shall prove
Many thorns to be in love.

Love, I recant,
And pardon crave
That lately I offended;
But 'twas,
Alas!
To make a brave,
But no disdain intended.
No more I'll vaunt,
For now I see
Thou only hast the power
To find
And bind
A heart that's free,
And slave it in an hour.

— This text is not currently
in the database but will be added
as soon as we obtain it. —

What was't that fell but now
From that warm kiss of ours?
Look, look! by love I vow
They were two gilly-flowers.
Let's kiss and kiss again,
For if so be our closes
Make gilly-flowers, then
I'm sure they'll fashion roses.

— This text is not currently
in the database but will be added
as soon as we obtain it. —

From noise of scare-fires1 rest ye free,
From murders Benedicite.
From all mischances that may fright
Your pleasing slumbers in the night,
Mercy secure ye all, and keep
The goblin from ye while ye sleep.
Past one o'clock, and almost two!
My masters all, good-day to you.

Sweet Oenone, do but say
Love thou dost, though love says nay.
Speak me fair; for lovers be
Gently kill'd by flattery.

[Sappho]1, I will choose to go
Where the northern winds do blow
Endless ice and endless snow:
Rather than I once would see
But a winter's face in thee,
To benumb my hopes and me.

— This text is not currently
in the database but will be added
as soon as we obtain it. —