#EnglishWriters
Clear are her eyes, Like purest skies; Discovering from thence A baby there That turns each sphere,
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…
Down with the rosemary, and so Down with the bays and misletoe; Down with the holly, ivy, all Wherewith ye dress’d the Christma… That so the superstitious find
Only a little more I have to write: Then I’ll give o’er, And bid the world good-night. ’Tis but a flying minute,
Orpheus he went, as poets tell, To fetch Eurydice from hell; And had her, but it was upon This short, but strict condition; Backward he should not look, while…
What can I do in poetry, Now the good spirit’s gone from me… Why, nothing now but lonely sit And over-read what I have writ.
What needs complaints, When she a place Has with the race Of saints? In endless mirth,
Every time seems short to be That’s measured by felicity; But one half-hour that’s made up h… With grief, seems longer than a ye…
Time was upon The wing, to fly away; And I call’d on Him but awhile to stay; But he’d be gone,
If after rude and boisterous seas My wearied pinnace here finds ease… If so it be I’ve gain’d the shore… With safety of a faithful oar; If having run my barque on ground,
In this little urn is laid Prudence Baldwin, once my maid, From whose happy spark here let Spring the purple violet.
All things decay with time: The… The growth and down-fall of her ag… That timber tall, which three-scor… The proud dictator of the state-li… I mean the sovereign of all plants…
Sapho, I will chuse 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,—
Gather ye rose-buds while ye may: Old Time is still a-flying; And this same flower that smiles t… To-morrow will be dying. The glorious lamp of heaven, the…
I call, I call: who do ye call? The maids to catch this cowslip ba… But since these cowslips fading be… Troth, leave the flowers, and maid… Yet, if that neither you will do,