As I went a-walking on Lavender Hill, O, I met a Darling in frock and frill; And she looked at me shyly, with eyes of blue, "Are you going a-walking? Then take me too!" ...
As I left the Halls at Lumley, rose the vision of a comely Maid last season worshiped dumbly, watched with fervor from afar; And I wondered idly, blindly, if the maid would greet me kindly....
High-perch'd upon the rocky way, Stands a Posada stern and grey; Which from the valley, seems as if, A condor there had paus'd to 'light And rest upon that lonely cliff, From some stupendous flight;...
A wondrous city, that had temples there More rich than that one built by David's son, Which called forth Ophir's gold, when Israel Made Lebanon half naked for her sake....
Here, where the thoroughfares meet at an angle Of ninety degrees (this angle is right), You may hear the loafers that jest and wrangle Through the sun-lit day and the lamp-lit night;...
I wrenched from a passing comet in its flight, By that great force of two mad hearts aflame, A soul incarnate, back to earth you came, To glow like star-dust for a little night....
Louing in trueth, and fayne in verse my loue to show, That she, deare Shee, might take som pleasure of my paine, Pleasure might cause her reade, reading might make her know,...
O teares! no teares, but raine, from Beauties skies, Making those lillies and those roses growe, Which ay most faire, now more then most faire shew, While gracefull Pitty Beautie beautifies....
Stella is sicke, and in that sicke-bed lies Sweetnesse, which breathes and pants as oft as she: And Grace, sicke too, such fine conclusion tries, That Sickenesse brags it selfe best grac'd to be....
Where be those roses gone, which sweetned so our eyes? Where those red cheeks, which oft, with faire encrease, did frame The height of honour in the kindly badge of shame?...
O happie Thames, that didst my Stella beare! I saw thee with full many a smiling line Vpon thy cheerefull face, Ioyes liuery weare, While those faire planets on thy streames did shine....
Enuious wits, what hath bene mine offence, That with such poysonous care my lookes you marke, That to each word, nay sigh of mine, you harke, As grudging me my sorrowes eloquence?...