A Book of Elizabethan Lyrics

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Felix Emmanuel Schelling
Ginn, 1895 - English poetry - 327 pages
 

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Page 86 - No longer mourn for me when I am dead Than you shall hear the surly sullen bell Give warning to the world that I am fled From this vile world, with vilest worms to dwell : Nay, if you read this line, remember not The hand that writ it ; for I love you so That I in your sweet thoughts would be forgot, If thinking on me then should make you woe.
Page 164 - Every thing that heard him play, Even the billows of the sea, Hung their heads, and then lay by. In sweet music is such art, Killing care and grief of heart Fall asleep, or hearing die.
Page xix - ... no such roses see I in her cheeks; And in some perfumes is there more delight Than in the breath that from my mistress reeks. I love to hear her speak, yet well I know That music hath a far more pleasing sound ; I grant I never saw a goddess go ; My mistress, when she walks, treads on the ground; And yet, by heaven, I think my love as rare As any she belied with false compare.
Page 86 - Let me not to the marriage of true minds Admit impediments. Love is not love Which alters when it alteration finds, Or bends with the remover to remove: O, no ! it is an ever-fixed mark, That looks on tempests and is never shaken; It is the star to every wandering bark, Whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken.
Page 85 - gainst his glory fight, And Time that gave doth now his gift confound. Time doth transfix the flourish set on youth And delves the parallels in beauty's brow, Feeds on the rarities of nature's truth, And nothing stands but for his scythe to mow; And yet to times in hope my verse shall stand, Praising thy worth, despite his cruel hand.
Page 154 - Full fathom five thy father lies; Of his bones are coral made; Those are pearls that were his eyes: Nothing of him that doth fade, But doth suffer a sea-change Into something rich and strange. Sea-nymphs hourly ring his knell : Hark! now I hear them, — ding-dong, bell.
Page 237 - The flowers do fade, and wanton fields To wayward winter reckoning yields; A honey tongue, a heart of gall, Is fancy's spring, but sorrow's fall.
Page 122 - O mistress mine, where are you roaming ? O, stay and hear; your true love's coming, That can sing both high and low: Trip no further, pretty sweeting; Journeys end in lovers meeting, Every wise man's son doth know.
Page 128 - He is dead and gone, lady, He is dead and gone, At his head a grass-green turf, At his heels a stone.
Page 88 - Fie, fie, fie,' now would she cry ; ' Tereu, tereu ! ' by and by ; That to hear her so complain, Scarce I could from tears refrain ; For her griefs, so lively shown, Made me think upon mine own. Ah, thought I, thou mourn'st in vain ! None takes pity on thy pain : Senseless trees they cannot hear thee ; Ruthless...

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