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The Golden Treasury
Spring, the sweet Spring, is the year's pleasant king;
The palm and may make country houses gay,
The fields breathe sweet, the daisies kiss our feet,
SUMMONS TO LOVE
Phoebus, arise !
And paint the sable skies
With azure, white, and red:
Rouse Memnon's mother from her Tithon's bed
That she may thy career with roses spread :
Give life to this dark world which lieth dead;
In larger locks than thou wast wont before,
With diadem of pearl thy temples fair:
Chase hence the ugly night
Which serves but to make dear thy glorious light.
-This is that happy morn,
That day, long-wished day
Of all my life so dark,
(If cruel stars have not my ruin sworn
And fates my hopes betray),
Which, purely white, deserves
An everlasting diamond should it mark.
This is the morn should bring unto this grove
My Love, to hear and recompense my love.
But show thy blushing beams,
And thou two sweeter eyes
Shalt see than those which by Penéus' streams
Did once thy heart surprize.
Now, Flora, deck thyself in fairest guise :
If that ye winds would hear
A voice surpassing far Amphion's lyre,
Ensaffroning sea and air
Beyond the hills, to shun his flaming wheels:
And nothing wanting is, save She, alas!
W. Drummond of Hawthornden
TIME AND LOVE
When I have seen by Time's fell hand defaced
Ruin hath taught me thus to ruminate-
-This thought is as a death, which cannot choose
Since brass, nor stone, nor earth, nor boundless sea,
O fearful meditation! where, alack!
O! none, unless this miracle have might,
That in black ink my love may still shine bright. W. Shakespeare