A Dialogue Between Thyrsis And Dorinda by Andrew Marvell
Dorinda
When Death, shall snatch us from these Kids,
And shut up our divided Lids,
Tell me Thyrsis, prethee do,
Whither thou and I must go.
Thyrsis
To the Elizium: (Dorinda) oh where i'st?
Thyrsis
A Chast Soul, can never mis't.
Dorinda
I know no way, but one, our home
Is our Elizium?
Thyrsis
Cast thine Eye to yonder Skie,
There the milky way doth lye;
'Tis a sure but rugged way,
That leads to Everlasting day.
Dorinda
There Birds may nest, but how can I,
That have no wings and cannot fly.
Thyrsis
Do not sigh (fair Nimph) for fire
Hath no wings, yet doth aspire
Till it hit, against the pole,
Heaven's the Center of the Soul.
Dorinda
But in Elizium how do they
Pass Eternity away.
Thyrsis
Ho, ther's, neither hope nor fear
Ther's no Wolf, no Fox, no Bear.
No need of Dog to fetch our stray,
Our Lightfoot we may give away;
And there most sweetly thine Ear
May feast with Musick of the Sphear.
How I my future state
By silent thinking, Antidate:
I preethe let us spend, our time come,
In talking of Elizium.
Thyrsis
Then I'le go on: There, sheep are full
Of softest grass, and softest wooll;
There, birds sing Consorts, garlands grow,
Cold winds do whisper,springs do flow.
There, alwayes is, a rising Sun,
And day is ever, but begun.
Shepheards there, bear equal sway,
And every Nimph's a Queen of May.
Dorinda
Ah me, ah me.
Thyrsis
Dorinda, why do'st Cry?
Dorinda
I'm sick, I'm sick, and fain would dye:
Convinc't me now, that this is true,
By bidding, with mee, all adieu
I cannot live, without thee, I
Will for thee,much more with thee dye.
Dorinda
Then let us give Corellia charge o'th Sheep,
And thou and I'le pick poppies and them steep
In wine, and drink on't even till we weep,
So shall we smoothly pass away in sleep.
= = = = = = = = = =
The Single Hound, LV by Emily Dickinson
I SEND two Sunsets—
Day and I in competition ran,
I finished two, and several stars,
While He was making one.
His own is ampler—
But, as I was saying to a friend,
Mine is the more convenient
To carry in the hand.
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The Young Laird and Edinburgh Katy by Allan Ramsay
Now wat ye wha I met yestreen
Coming down the street, my Jo,
My mistress in her tartan screen,
Fow bonny, braw and sweet, my Jo.
'My dear,' quoth I, 'thanks to the night,
That never wish'd a lover ill,
Since ye're out of your mither's sight,
Let's take a wauk up to the hill.
'O Katy wiltu gang wi' me,
And leave the dinsome town a while,
The blossom's sprouting frae the tree,
And a' the summer's gawn to smile;
The mavis, nightingale and lark,
The bleeting lambs and whistling hynd,
In ilka dale, green, shaw and park,
Will nourish health, and glad ye'r mind.
'Soon as the clear goodman of day
Bends his morning draught of dew,
We'll gae to some burnside and play,
And gather flowers to busk ye'r brow.
We'll pou the dazies on the green,
The lucken gowans frae the bog;
Between hands now and then we'll lean,
And sport upo' the velvet fog.
'There's up into a pleasant glen,
A wee piece frae my father's tower,
A canny, saft and flow'ry den,
Which circling birks has form'd a bower:
When e'er the sun grows high and warm,
We'll to the cauller shade remove,
There will I lock thee in mine arm,
And love and kiss, and kiss and love.'
= = = = = = = = = =
He Reproves The Curlew by William Butler Yeats
O curlew, cry no more in the air,
Or only to the water in the West;
Because your crying brings to my mind
passion-dimmed eyes and long heavy hair
That was shaken out over my breast:
There is enough evil in the crying of wind.
= = = = = = = = = =
A Day of Sunshine by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
O GIFT of God! O perfect day :
Whereon shall no man work, but play ;
Whereon it is enough for me,
Not to be doing, but to be!
Through every fibre of my brain,
Through every nerve, through every vein,
I feel the electric thrill, the touch
Of life, that seems almost too much.
I hear the wind among the trees
Playing celestial symphonies ;
I see the branches downward bent,
Like keys of some great instrument.
And over me unrolls on high
The splendid scenery of the sky,
Where through a sapphire sea the sun
Sails like a golden galleon.
Towards yonder cloud-land in the West,
Towards yonder Islands of the Blest,
Whose steep sierra far uplifts
Its craggy summits white with drifts.
Blow, winds ! and waft through all the rooms
The snow-flakes of the cherry-blooms !
Blow, winds ! and bend within my reach
The fiery blossoms of the peach !
O Life and Love ! O happy throng
Of thoughts, whose only speech is song !
O heart of man ! canst thou not be
Blithe as the air is, and as free ?
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