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Página 75 - Love not me for comely grace, For my pleasing eye or face, Nor for any outward part, No, nor for my constant heart, — For those may fail, or turn to ill, So thou and I shall sever : Keep therefore a true woman's eye, And love me still, but know not why—- So hast thou the same reason still To doat upon me ever ! Anon.
Página 319 - Let me not to the marriage of true minds Admit impediments. Love is not love Which alters when it alteration finds, Or bends with the remover to remove: O, no ! it is an ever-fixed mark, That looks on tempests and is never shaken; It is the star to every wandering bark, Whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken. Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks Within his bending sickle's compass come; Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks, But bears it out even to the edge of...
Página 256 - No longer mourn for me when I am dead, Than you shall hear the surly sullen bell Give warning to the world that I am fled From this vile world, with vilest worms to dwell: Nay, if you read this line, remember not The hand that writ it; for I love you so, That I in your sweet thoughts would be forgot, If thinking on me then should make you woe.
Página 2 - It is to be all made of fantasy, All made of passion, and all made of wishes; All adoration, duty, and observance, All humbleness, all patience, and impatience, All purity, all trial, all observance; And so am I for Phebe.
Página 250 - What though, in solemn silence, all Move round the dark terrestrial ball; What though no real voice nor sound Amid their radiant orbs be found; In reason's ear they all rejoice, And utter forth a glorious voice, For ever singing as they shine, The hand that made us is divine.
Página 34 - This may be well. But what if God have seen, And death ensue ? then I shall be no more ! And Adam, wedded to another Eve, Shall live with her enjoying, I extinct : A death to think ! Confirm'd then I resolve, Adam shall share with me in bliss or woe.
Página 70 - In the corrupted currents of this world Offence's gilded hand may shove by justice, And oft 'tis seen the wicked prize itself Buys out the law : but 'tis not so above ; ' There is no shuffling, there the action lies In his true nature, and we ourselves compell'd, Even to the teeth and forehead of our faults, To give in evidence.
Página 4 - Time ! the beautifier of the dead, Adorner of the ruin, comforter And only healer when the heart hath bled — Time ! the corrector where our judgments err, The test of truth, love, — sole philosopher, For all beside are sophists, from thy thrift, Which never loses though it doth defer — Time, the avenger ! unto thee I lift My hands, and eyes, and heart, and crave of thee a gift ; CXXXI.