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THE FAIRY LIFE
Where the bee sucks, there suck I:
There I couch, when owls do cry:
On the bat's back I do fly
After summer merrily.
Merrily, merrily, shall I live now,
Under the blossom that hangs on the bough!
Come unto these yellow sands,
Foot it featly here and there;
The watch-dogs bark:
Hark, hark! I hear
The strain of strutting chanticleer
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,
And emperor-like decore
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
(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
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,
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.
THE PASSIONATE SHEPHERD TO HIS
Come live with me and be my Love,
There will I make thee beds of roses
A gown made of the finest wool,
A belt of straw and ivy buds
Thy silver dishes for thy meat
The shepherd swains shall dance and sing
Fain would I change that note
To which fond Love hath charm'd me
Fancying that that harm'd me :
I have no other choice
O Love! they wrong thee much
I know thee what thou art,
Crabbed Age and Youth
Youth like summer morn,