FROM off a hill whose concave womb reworded
A plaintful story from a sistering vale,
378 lines, 8 comments
Crabbed Age and Youth
Cannot live together:
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All the world's a stage,
And all the men and women merely players;
27 lines, 70 comments
HARK! hark! the lark at heaven's gate sings,
And Phoebus 'gins arise,
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Blow, blow, thou winter wind
Thou art not so unkind
22 lines, 20 comments
ROSES, their sharp spines being gone,
Not royal in their smells alone,
25 lines, 7 comments
O mistress mine, where are you roaming?
O stay and hear! your true-love's coming
12 lines, 18 comments
COME away, come away, death,
And in sad cypres let me be laid;
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URNS and odours bring away!
Vapours, sighs, darken the day!
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Over hill, over dale,
Thorough bush, thorough brier,
15 lines, 6 comments
You spotted snakes with double tongue,
Thorny hedgehogs, be not seen;
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Come unto these yellow sands,
And then take hands:
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Where the bee sucks, there suck I:
In a cowslip's bell I lie;
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Full fathom five thy father lies;
Of his bones are coral made;
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Fear no more the heat ‘o the sun,
Nor the furious winter’s rages;
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FEAR no more the heat o' the sun,
Nor the furious winter's rages;
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How like a winter hath my absence been
From Thee, the pleasure of the fleeting year!
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It was a lover and his lass
With a hey and a ho, and a hey-nonino!
16 lines, 1 comment
Farewell!--God knows when we shall meet again.
I have a faint cold fear thrills through my veins
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Now, my co-mates and brothers in exile, Hath not old customs make this life more sweet
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O never say that I was false of heart,
Though absence seem'd my flame to qualify:
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Orpheus with his lute made trees,
And the mountain tops that freeze,
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Sigh no more, ladies, sigh no more,
Men were deceivers ever;
18 lines, 9 comments
Who is Silvia? What is she?
That all our swains commend her?
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Where art thou Muse that thou forget'st so long,
To speak of that which gives thee all thy might?
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O truant Muse what shall be thy amends
For thy neglect of truth in beauty dyed?
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My love is strengthened, though more weak in seeming;
I love not less, though less the show appear;
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Alack! what poverty my Muse brings forth,
That having such a scope to show her pride,
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To me, fair friend, you never can be old,
For as you were when first your eye I ey'd,
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Let not my love be called idolatry,
Nor my beloved as an idol show,
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