I Awoke in the Midsummer not to call night, |in the white and the walk of the morning: The moon, dwindled and thinned to the fringe | of a finger-nail held to the candle,...
The dappled die-away Cheek and wimpled lip, The gold-wisp, the airy-grey Eye, all in fellowship - This, all this beauty blooming, This, all this freshness fuming, Give God while worth consuming....
My own heart let me have more pity on; let Me live to my sad self hereafter kind, Charitable; not live this tormented mind With this tormented mind tormenting yet. I cast for comfort I can no more get...
To what serves mortal beauty | dangerous; does set danc- ing blood the O-seal-that-so | feature, flung prouder form Than Purcell tune lets tread to? | See: it does this: keeps warm...