#EnglishWriters
Charm me asleep, and melt me so With thy delicious numbers; That being ravish’d, hence I go Away in easy slumbers. Ease my sick head,
Not all thy flushing suns are set, Herrick, as yet ; Nor doth this far-drawn hemisphere Frown and look sullen ev’rywhere. Days may conclude in nights, and s…
Whenas in silks my Julia goes, Then, then (methinks) how sweetly… That liquefaction of her clothes. Next, when I cast mine eyes, and… That brave vibration each way free…
You say I love not, 'cause I do n… Still with your curls, and kiss th… You blame me, too, because I can’… Some sport, to please those babies… By Love’s religion, I must here c…
These springs were maidens once th… But lost to that they most approve… My story tells, by Love they were Turn’d to these springs which we s… The pretty whimpering that they ma…
Here she lies, in bed of spice, Fair as Eve in paradise; For her beauty, it was such, Poets could not praise too much. Virgins come, and in a ring
Love’s of itself too sweet; the be… Is, when love’s honey has a dash o…
For brave comportment, wit without… Words fully flowing, yet of influe… Thou art that man of men, the man… Worthy the public admiration: Who with thine own eyes read’st wh…
First offer incense; then, thy fie… Shall smile and smell the better b… The spangling dew dredged o’er the… Turn’d all to mell and manna there… Butter of amber, cream, and wine,…
I would to God, that mine old age… Before my last, but here a living… Some one poor almshouse, there to… Ghost—like, as in my meaner sepulc… A little piggin, and a pipkin by,
Ye silent shades, whose each tree… Some relique of a saint doth wear; Who for some sweet-heart’s sake, d… The fire and martyrdom of Love:— Here is the legend of those saints
Her pretty feet Like snails did creep A little out, and then, As if they played at Bo-peep, Did soon draw in again.
If thou dislik’st the piece thou l… Think that of all that I have wri… But if thou read’st my book unto t… And still dost this and that verse… O perverse man! If all disgustful…
BE those few hours, which I have… Blest with the meditation of my en… Though they be few in number, I’m… If otherwise, I stand indifferent… Nor makes it matter, Nestor’s yea…
’Tis not ev’ry day that I Fitted am to prophesy: No, but when the spirit fills The fantastic pannicles, Full of fire, then I write