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:
- Love’s Wisdom poem – Alfred Austin
- Solitude: An Ode poem – Alexander Pope
- In The Valley Of The Elwy poem – Gerard Manley Hopkins poems
- The Snowy Spring Is Raging Mad poem – Aleksandr Blok poems | Poetry Monster
- Chaap Tilak poem – Amir Khusro poems | Poems and Poetry
- Гавриил Державин – К правде
- The Mother Of A Poet by Sara Teasdale
- Fortune-Hunter, The – Canto 1 by William Somervile
- Don’t Worry by John Oxenham
- Стефан Малларме – Ее ногтей ожив, что ожил из пароса
- Water-Fowl Observed Frequently Over The Lakes Of Rydal And Grasmere by William Wordsworth
- Le Monocle de Mon Oncle by Wallace Stevens
- The Silver Jubilee poem – Gerard Manley Hopkins poems
- Николай Языков – Прошли младые наши годы
- A Carol 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
- Владимир Высоцкий – Песня Кэрролла
- Владимир Высоцкий – Песня Алисы
- Владимир Высоцкий – Песенка про ребёнка-поросёнка
- Владимир Высоцкий – Песенка-представление орлёнком Эдом Атаки Гризли
- Владимир Высоцкий – В плен, приказ, не сдаваться
- Владимир Высоцкий – В младенчестве нас матери пугали
- Владимир Высоцкий – В куски разлетелася корона
- Владимир Высоцкий – В этом доме большом раньше пьянка была
- Владимир Высоцкий – В далёком созвездии Тау Кита
- Владимир Высоцкий – В белье плотной вязки
- Владимир Высоцкий – Утренняя гимнастика
- Владимир Высоцкий – Упрямо я стремлюсь ко дну
- Владимир Высоцкий – Ублажаю ли душу романсом
- Владимир Высоцкий – У профессиональных игроков
- Владимир Высоцкий – У нас вчера с позавчера
- Владимир Высоцкий – У Наполеона Ватерлоо есть хотя б
- Владимир Высоцкий – У меня было сорок фамилий
- Владимир Высоцкий – У Доски, где почётные граждане
- Владимир Высоцкий – Тюменская нефть
- Владимир Высоцкий – Тот, кто раньше с нею был
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.