#RhymedStanza
I that have been a lover, and coul… Though not in these, in rhymes n… Since I exscribe your sonnets,… A better lover, and much better po… Nor is my Muse, or I ashamed to o…
Not to know vice at all, and keep… Is virtue and not fate: Next to that virtue, is to know vi… And her black spite expel. Which to effect (since no breast i…
Queen and huntress, chaste and fai… Now the sun is laid to sleep, Seated in thy silver chair State in wonted manner keep: Hesperus entreats thy light,
See the chariot at hand here of L… Wherein my lady rideth! Each that draws is a swan or a dov… And well the car Love guideth. As she goes, all hearts do duty
Come, my Celia, let us prove, While we can, the sports of love; Time will not be ours forever; He at length our good will sever. Spend not then his gifts in vain.
Thy praise or dispraise is to me a… One doth not stroke me, nor the ot…
From 'Cynthia’s Revels’ Queen and huntress, chaste and fai… Now the sun is laid to sleep, Seated in thy silver chair,
Drink to me only with thine eyes, And I will pledge with mine; Or leave a kiss but in the cup, And I’ll not look for wine. The thirst that from the soul doth…
if only for ten minutes after the mass feeding of schoolch… after the careful inanity of the s… at low tide this was the place
Ere cherries ripe, and strawberrie… Unto the cries of London I’ll add… Ripe statesmen, ripe: they grow in… At six-and-twenty, ripe. You shal… And have him yield no favour, but…
Wouldst thou hear what man can say In a little? Reader, stay. Underneath this stone doth lie As much beauty as could die; Which in life did harbour give
The owl is abroad, the bat, and th… And so is the cat-a-mountain, The ant and the mole sit both in a… And the frog peeps out o’ the foun… The dogs they do bay, and the timb…
Descended to the shore, odd how we… the young girl with us to herself,… straight to examine the stratified… forgot her entirely in our interes… You marvelled at the shapes the cl…
Drink to me, only, with thine eyes… And I will pledge with mine; Or leave a kisse but in the cup, And Ile not look for wine. The thirst, that from the soule do…
My son finds occupation in almost nothing, in everything: my soapy penitential toothpaste, his mother’s loosened hair orts, containers, useless things;