Pardon my trespass, Silvia! I confess My kiss out-went the bounds of shamefacedness:– None is discreet at all times; no, not Jove Himself, at one time, can be wise and love.

Three lovely sisters working were, As they were closely set, Of soft and dainty maiden-hair, A curious Armilet. I, smiling, ask’d them what they did, Fair Destinies all three? Who told me they had drawn a thread Of life, and ’twas for me. They shew’d me then how fine ’twas spun And I replied thereto; […]

You say you’re sweet: how should we know Whether that you be sweet or no? –From powders and perfumes keep free; Then we shall smell how sweet you be!

We two are last in hell; what may we fear To be tormented or kept pris’ners here I Alas! if kissing be of plagues the worst, We’ll wish in hell we had been last and first.

By those soft tods of wool, With which the air is full; By all those tinctures there That paint the hemisphere; By dews and drizzling rain, That swell the golden grain; By all those sweets that be I’th’ flowery nunnery; By silent nights, and the Three forms of Hecate; By all aspects that bless The […]

How Love came in, I do not know, Whether by th’eye, or ear, or no; Or whether with the soul it came, At first, infused with the same; Whether in part ’tis here or there, Or, like the soul, whole every where. This troubles me; but I as well As any other, this can tell; […]

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,– To benumb my hopes and me.

Dear, though to part it be a hell, Yet, Dianeme, now farewell! Thy frown last night did bid me go, But whither, only grief does know. I do beseech thee, ere we part, (If merciful, as fair thou art; Or else desir’st that maids should tell Thy pity by Love’s chronicle) O, Dianeme, rather kill […]

Sweet, be not proud of those two eyes, Which, star-like, sparkle in their skies; Nor be you proud, that you can see All hearts your captives, yours, yet free; Be you not proud of that rich hair Which wantons with the love-sick air; Whenas that ruby which you wear, Sunk from the tip of your […]

Biancha, let Me pay the debt I owe thee for a kiss Thou lend’st to me; And I to thee Will render ten for this. If thou wilt say, Ten will not pay For that so rich a one; I’ll clear the sum, If it will come Unto a million. He must of right, To […]

I have lost, and lately, these Many dainty mistresses:– Stately Julia, prime of all; Sapho next, a principal: Smooth Anthea, for a skin White, and heaven-like crystalline: Sweet Electra, and the choice Myrha, for the lute and voice. Next, Corinna, for her wit, And the graceful use of it; With Perilla:–All are gone; Only Herrick’s […]

Come, bring your sampler, and with art Draw in’t a wounded heart, And dropping here and there; Not that I think that any dart Can make your’s bleed a tear, Or pierce it any where; Yet do it to this end,–that I May by This secret see, Though you can make That heart to bleed, […]

You may vow I’ll not forget To pay the debt Which to thy memory stands as due As faith can seal it you. –Take then tribute of my tears; So long as I have fears To prompt me, I shall ever Languish and look, but thy return see never. Oh then to lessen my despair, […]

Thou see’st me, Lucia, this year droop; Three zodiacs fill’d more, I shall stoop; Let crutches then provided be To shore up my debility: Then, while thou laugh’st, I’ll sighing cry, A ruin underpropt am I: Don will I then my beadsman’s gown; And when so feeble I am grown As my weak shoulders cannot […]

Anthea, I am going hence With some small stock of innocence; But yet those blessed gates I see Withstanding entrance unto me; To pray for me do thou begin;– The porter then will let me in.

In this world, the Isle of Dreams, While we sit by sorrow’s streams, Tears and terrors are our themes, Reciting: But when once from hence we fly, More and more approaching nigh Unto young eternity, Uniting In that whiter Island, where Things are evermore sincere: Candour here, and lustre there, Delighting:– There no monstrous fancies […]

She. Yet, how short it will be! How awful to have the days and weeks and months slip by, and know that at the best there is only a reprieve of a few years. I think from this night I shall have my shadow of death. I shall always be doing things for the last […]

He. Can you conceive of any heaven for which you would change this shameful world? Any heaven, I mean, of spirits, not merely an Italian palace of delights? She. There is the heaven of the Pagans, the heaven of glorified earth, but—- He. Would you like to dine without tasting the fruit and the wine? […]

She. But have you never forgotten the body, dreamed what it would be to feel God? You have known those moments when your soul, losing the sense of contact with men or women, groped alone, in an enveloping calm, and knew content. I have had it in times of intoxication from music–not the personal, passionate […]

Jack Lynton is becoming stone like that. His is a case in point, and a good one, because the atrophy is coming about not from physical disease, or from any dissipation. You would call him sane and full of fire. He was. He married three years ago. Their life was full, too, like ours, and […]