Thrice, with a prophet's voice, and prophet's power, The Muse was called in a poetic hour, And insolently thrice the slighted maid Dared to suspend her unregarded aid;...
Cyriack, this three years day these eys, though clear To outward view, of blemish or of spot; Bereft of light thir seeing have forgot, Nor to thir idle orbs doth sight appear...
'Ah, friend! 'tis true--this truth you lovers know-- In vain my structures rise, my gardens grow, In vain fair Thames reflects the double scenes Of hanging mountains, and of sloping greens:...
The bard, if e'er he feel at all, Must sure be quicken'd by a call Both on his heart and head, To pay with tuneful thanks the care And kindness of a lady fair, Who deigns to deck his bed.
Is not thy mind a gentle mind? Is not that heart a heart refined? Hast thou not every gentle grace, We love in woman's mind and face? And, oh! art thou a shrine for Sin To hold her hateful worship in?...
Sure there's a fate in plays, and 'tis in vain To write, while these malignant planets reign. Some very foolish influence rules the pit, Not always kind to sense, or just to wit:...
If spicy-fringed pinks that blush and pale With passions of perfume, - if violets blue That hint of heaven with odor more than hue, - If perfect roses, each a holy Grail...
Thou lowly cot, where first my breath I drew, Past joys endear thee, childhood's past delight; Where each young summer's pictur'd on my view; And, dearer still, the happy winter-night,...
O dear my Country, beautiful and dear, Love cloth not darken sight. God looketh through Love's eyes, whose vision clear Beholds more flaws than keenest Hate hath known....
My gentle Anne, whom heretofore, When I was young, and thou no more Than plaything for a nurse, I danced and fondled on my knee, A kitten both in size and glee, I thank thee for my purse.
Well, then, the promised hour is come at last, The present age of wit obscures the past: Strong were our sires, and as they fought they writ, Conquering with force of arms, and dint of wit:...
The amorous youth, whose tender breast Was by his darling Cat possest, Obtain'd of Venus his desire, Howe'er irregular his fire: Nature the power of love obey'd, The Cat became a blushing maid,...
Dear mother, from the sure sun and warm seas Of Italy, I, sick, remember now What sometimes is forgot in times of ease, Our love, the always felt but unspoken vow....
When days are dark and spirits low, And hope desponding stands, What comfort these few words bestow, "My times are in thy hands." That thought should every fear allay, And every cloud dispel;...