I’AVE often wish’d to love; what shall I do?
Me still the cruel boy does spare;
And I a double task must bear,
First to woo him, and then a mistress too.
Come at last and strike, for shame,
If thou art any thing besides a name;
I’ll think thee else no God to be,
But poets rather Gods, who first created thee.
I ask not one in whom all beauties grow;
Let me but love, whate’er she be,
She cannot seem deform’d to me;
And I would have her seem to others so.
Desire takes wings and straight does fly,
It stays not dully to inquire the Why.
That happy thing, a lover, grown,
I shall not see with others’ eyes, scarce with mine own.
If she be coy, and scorn my noble fire;
If her chill heart I cannot move;
Why I’ll enjoy the very love,
And make a mistress of my own desire.
Flames their most vigorous heat do hold,
And purest light, if compass’d round with cold:
So, when sharp winter means most harm,
The springing plants are by the snow itself kept warm.
But do not touch my heart, and so be gone;
Strike deep thy burning arrows in!
Lukewarmness I account a sin,
As great in love as in religion.
Come arm’d with flames; for I would prove
All the extremities of mighty Love.
Th’ excess of heat is but a fable;
We know the torrid zone is now found habitable.
Among the woods and forests thou art found,
There boars and lions thou dost tame;
Is not my heart a nobler game?
Let Venus, men; and beasts, Diana, wound!
Thou dost the birds thy subjects make;
Thy nimble feathers do their wings o’ertake:
Thou all the spring their songs dost hear;
Make me love too, I’ll sing to’ thee all the year!
What service can mute fishes do to thee?
Yet against them thy dart prevails,
Piercing the armour of their scales;
And still thy sea-born mother lives i’th’ sea.
Dost thou deny only to me
The no-great privilege of captivity?
I beg or challenge here thy bow;
Either thy pity to me, or else thine anger, show.
Come! or I ‘ll teach the world to scorn that bow:
I’ll teach them thousand wholesome arts
Both to resist and cure thy darts,
More than thy skilful Ovid e’er did know.
Musick of sighs thou shalt not hear,
Nor drink one wretched lover’s tasteful tear:
Nay, unless soon thou woundest me,
My verses shall not only wound, but murder, thee.
A few random poems:
- Федор Сваровский – Речь на юбилее
- Song—A Health to ane I loe dear by Robert Burns
- Poem poem – Aldous Huxley poems | Poetry Monster
- Green Rock, Winthrop Bay by Sylvia Plath
- Going for Water by Robert Frost
- Lines Written In Early Spring by William Wordsworth
- Иван Бунин – Надпись на могильной плите
- A Parsonage In Oxfordshire by William Wordsworth
- Apology to Delia by William Cowper
- Sonnet 14 poem – John Milton poems
- A Poet I knew by Martin Zakovski
- What Best I See In Thee. by Walt Whitman
- World Below the Brine, The. by Walt Whitman
- The Effects of Chess on Leadership
- The Young British Soldier by Rudyard Kipling
External links
Bat’s Poetry Page – more poetry by Fledermaus
Talking Writing Monster’s Page –
Batty Writing – the bat’s idle chatter, thoughts, ideas and observations, all original, all fresh
Poems in English
- Robert Burns: Anna, Thy Charms:
- Robert Burns: To Alex. Cunningham, ESQ., Writer: Ellisland, Nithsdale, July 27th, 1788.
- Robert Burns: Lines Written In Friars’-Carse Hermitage:
- Robert Burns: I Hae a Wife O’ My Ain:
- Robert Burns: Of A’ The Airts The Wind Can Blaw:
- Robert Burns: Epistle To Hugh Parker:
- Robert Burns: The Chevalier’s Lament:
- Robert Burns: Verses To Clarinda: Sent with a Pair of Wine-Glasses.
- Robert Burns: The Bonie Lad That’s Far Awa:
- Robert Burns: The Winter It Is Past:
- Robert Burns: To Daunton Me:
- Robert Burns: Talk Of Him That’s Far Awa:
- Robert Burns: The Lad They Ca’Jumpin John:
- Robert Burns: Duncan Davison :
- Robert Burns: Hey, The Dusty Miller:
- Robert Burns: How Long And Dreary Is The Night :
- Robert Burns: Up In The Morning Early:
- Robert Burns: Up In The Morning Early:
- Robert Burns: Verses To Clarinda: Sent with a Pair of Wine-Glasses.
- Robert Burns: The Bonie Lad That’s Far Awa:
More external links (open in a new tab):
Doska or the Board – write anything
Search engines:
Yandex – the best search engine for searches in Russian (and the best overall image search engine, in any language, anywhere)
Qwant – the best search engine for searches in French, German as well as Romance and Germanic languages.
Ecosia – a search engine that supposedly… plants trees
Duckduckgo – the real alternative and a search engine that actually works. Without much censorship or partisan politics.
Yahoo– yes, it’s still around, amazingly, miraculously, incredibly, but now it seems to be powered by Bing.
Parallel Translations of Poetry
The Poetry Repository – an online library of poems, poetry, verse and poetic works
Abraham Cowley (1618 – 1667), the Royalist Poet.Poet and essayist Abraham Cowley was born in London, England, in 1618. He displayed early talent as a poet, publishing his first collection of poetry, Poetical Blossoms (1633), at the age of 15. Cowley studied at Cambridge University but was stripped of his Cambridge fellowship during the English Civil War and expelled for refusing to sign the Solemn League and Covenant of 1644. In turn, he accompanied Queen Henrietta Maria to France, where he spent 12 years in exile, serving as her secretary. During this time, Cowley completed The Mistress (1647). Arguably his most famous work, the collection exemplifies Cowley’s metaphysical style of love poetry. After the Restoration, Cowley returned to England, where he was reinstated as a Cambridge fellow and earned his MD before finally retiring to the English countryside. He is buried at Westminster Abbey alongside Geoffrey Chaucer and Edmund Spenser. Cowley is a wonderful poet and an outstanding representative of the English baroque.