And when with envy time transported, LXVII Anon. A LECTURE UPON THE SHADOW. Stand still, and I will read to thee 30 Along with us, which we ourselves produced : 5 But, now the sun is just above our head, We do those shadows tread, And to brave clearness all things are reduced. Disguises did and shadows flow From us and from our cares; but now it is not so. ΤΟ That love hath not attained the high'st degree, Except our loves at this noon stay, We shall new shadows make the other way. Will work upon ourselves, and blind our eyes, 15 To me thou falsely thine, And I to thee mine actions shall disguise. But these grow longer all the day; But, oh! love's day is short, if love decay. Love is a growing or full constant light, John Donne. 20 25 And when with envy time transported, 30 Anon. LXVII A LECTURE UPON THE SHADOW. Stand still, and I will read to thee Along with us, which we ourselves produced : 5 We do those shadows tread, And to brave clearness all things are reduced. Disguises did and shadows flow From us and from our cares; but now it is not so. 10 That love hath not attained the high'st degree, Except our loves at this noon stay, We shall new shadows make the other way. 15 Others, these which come behind Will work upon ourselves, and blind our eyes, To me thou falsely thine, 20 And I to thee mine actions shall disguise. The morning shadows wear away, But these grow longer all the day; But, oh! love's day is short, if love decay. Love is a growing or full constant light, John Donne 25 LXVIII SONG. Ask me no more where Jove bestows, Ask me no more, whither do stray For, in pure love, heaven did prepare Ask me no more, whither doth haste Ask me no more, where those stars light, Ask me no more, if east or west, And in your fragrant bosom dies. Thomas Carew. LXIX THE PRIMROSE. Ask me why I send you here This sweet Infanta of the year? Ask me why I send to you This primrose, thus bepearled with dew? 5 The sweets of love are mixed with tears. I will whisper to your ears, Ask me why this flower does show Robert Herrick. LXX TRUE LOVELINESS. It is not beauty I demand, A crystal brow, the moon's despair, Tell me not of your starry eyes, ΙΟ 5 Your lips that seem on roses fed, Your breasts, where Cupid tumbling lies, A bloomy pair of vermeil cheeks, 10 Than summer winds a-wooing flowers, These are but gauds: nay, what are lips? Whose brink when your adventurer slips, 15 And what are cheeks, but ensigns oft Eyes can with baleful ardour burn; There's many a white hand holds an urn 20 |