Spenser's Poem, Entitled Colin Clouts Come Home Againe, Explained: With Remarks Upon the Amoretti Sonnets, and Also Upon a Few of the Minor Poems of Other Early English Poets

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J. Miller, 1865 - 306 páginas
 

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Página 68 - Two loves I have, of comfort and despair, Which, like two spirits, do suggest me still: The better angel is a man right fair, The worser spirit a woman coloured ill. To win me soon to hell my female evil Tempteth my better angel from my side, And would corrupt my saint to be a devil, Wooing his purity with her foul pride...
Página 138 - But thy eternal summer shall not fade Nor lose possession of that fair thou owest ; Nor shall Death brag thou wander'st in his shade, When in eternal lines to time thou growest: So long as men can breathe or eyes can see, So long lives this and this gives life to thee.
Página 197 - For then my thoughts, from far where I abide, Intend a zealous pilgrimage to thee, And keep my drooping eyelids open wide, Looking on darkness which the blind do see : Save that my soul's imaginary sight Presents thy shadow to my sightless view, Which, like a jewel hung in ghastly night, Makes black night beauteous and her old face new.
Página 59 - How like a winter hath my absence been From thee, the pleasure of the fleeting year! What freezings have I felt, what dark days seen! What old December's bareness everywhere! And yet this time removed was summer's time; The teeming autumn, big with rich increase, Bearing the wanton burden of the prime, Like widow'd wombs after their lords...
Página 39 - EPITAPH. ON THE COUNTESS OF PEMBROKE. UNDERNEATH this sable hearse Lies the subject of all verse, Sidney's sister, Pembroke's mother : Death, ere thou hast slain another, Fair, and learned, and good as she, Time shall throw a dart at thee.
Página 306 - Like as the culver, on the bared bough, Sits mourning for the absence of her mate; And, in her songs, sends many a wishful vow For his return that seems to linger late: So I alone, now left disconsolate, Mourn to myself the absence of my love; And, wand'ring here and there all desolate, Seek with my plaints to match that mournful dove.
Página 132 - I wonder at the lily's white, Nor praise the deep vermilion in the rose ; They were but sweet, but figures of delight, Drawn after you, you pattern of all those.
Página 59 - Like widow'd wombs after their lords' decease: Yet this abundant issue seem'd to me But hope of orphans, and unfather'd fruit; For summer and his pleasures wait on thee, And, thou away, the very birds are mute: Or, if they sing, 'tis with so dull a cheer, That leaves look pale, dreading the winter's near.
Página 222 - So when my toung would speak her praises dew, It stopped is with thoughts astonishment...
Página 245 - SWEET is the Rose, but growes upon a brere; Sweet is the lunipeer, but sharpe his bough; Sweet is the Eglantine, but pricketh nere; Sweet is the Firbloome, but his...

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