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:
- Зинаида Александрова – Прятки
- Hoppleroopleoopledook by Pornika Ganguly
- The Leaden-Eyed by Vachel Lindsay
- Владимир Бенедиктов – Слезы и звуки
- On The Death Of Dr. Samuel Marshall by Phillis Wheatley
- happiness.html
- The Lew O’ The Rick by William Barnes
- Holy Thursday (Innocence) by William Blake
- The Kiss: A Dialogue by Robert Herrick
- The Queen’s Men by Rudyard Kipling
- The Fabulists by Rudyard Kipling
- Shakespeare by Vachel Lindsay
- Howard Stern’s Wine
- Wind on the Hill by A. A. Milne
- Grand Slam Night poem – A. D. Winans poems | Poetry Monster
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
- Омар Хайям – О доколе ты по свету будешь кружить
- Омар Хайям о Боге и религии: Рубаи, стихи Хайяма про Бога – Poetry Monster
- Омар Хайям – Ну, допустим, что будет тебе и почет
- Омар Хайям – Нищим дервишем ставши
- Омар Хайям – Никто не лицезрел ни рая, ни геенны
- Омар Хайям – Ни к другу не взывай, ни к небесам
- Омар Хайям – Нет ни рая, ни ада, о сердце моё
- Омар Хайям – Несовместимых мы порой полны желаний
- Омар Хайям – Неправ, кто думает, что бог неумолим
- Омар Хайям – Небо кушак, что облек изнуренный мой стан
- Омар Хайям – Не зли других и сам не злись
- Омар Хайям – Не зарекайся пить бесценных гроздий сок
- Омар Хайям – Не являй друзьям печальный вид
- Омар Хайям – Не выращивай в сердце печали росток
- Омар Хайям – Не устану в неверном театре теней
- Омар Хайям – Не у тех, кто во прах государства поверг
- Омар Хайям – Не таи в своем сердце обид и скорбей
- Омар Хайям – Не смешно ли весь век по копейке копить
- Омар Хайям – Не порочь лозы-невесты
- Омар Хайям – Не оплакивай, смертный, вчерашних потерь
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.