Bulchevy's Book of English Verse Part 28

William Shakespeare. 1564-1616

143. Orpheus ? or John Fletcher.

ORPHEUS with his lute made trees And the mountain tops that freeze Bow themselves when he did sing: To his music plants and flowers Ever sprung; as sun and showers There had made a lasting spring.

Every thing that heard him play, Even the billows of the sea, Hung their heads and then lay by.

In sweet music is such art, Killing care and grief of heart Fall asleep, or hearing, die.

William Shakespeare. 1564-1616

144. The Phoenix and the Turtle

LET the bird of loudest lay On the sole Arabian tree, Herald sad and trumpet be, To whose sound chaste wings obey.

But thou shrieking harbinger, Foul precurrer of the fiend, Augur of the fever's end, To this troop come thou not near.

From this session interdict Every fowl of tyrant wing Save the eagle, feather'd king: Keep the obsequy so strict.

Let the priest in surplice white That defunctive music can, Be the death-divining swan, Lest the requiem lack his right.

And thou, treble-dated crow, That thy sable gender mak'st With the breath thou giv'st and tak'st, 'Mongst our mourners shalt thou go.

Here the anthem doth commence:-- Love and constancy is dead; Phoenix and the turtle fled In a mutual flame from hence.

So they loved, as love in twain Had the essence but in one; Two distincts, division none; Number there in love was slain.

Hearts remote, yet not asunder; Distance, and no s.p.a.ce was seen 'Twixt the turtle and his queen: But in them it were a wonder.

So between them love did s.h.i.+ne, That the turtle saw his right Flaming in the phoenix' sight; Either was the other's mine.

Property was thus appall'd, That the self was not the same; Single nature's double name Neither two nor one was call'd.

Reason, in itself confounded, Saw division grow together; To themselves yet either neither; Simple were so well compounded,

That it cried, 'How true a twain Seemeth this concordant one!

Love hath reason, reason none If what parts can so remain.'

Whereupon it made this threne To the phoenix and the dove, Co-supremes and stars of love, As chorus to their tragic scene.

THRENOS

BEAUTY, truth, and rarity, Grace in all simplicity, Here enclosed in cinders lie.

Death is now the phoenix' nest; And the turtle's loyal breast To eternity doth rest,

Leaving no posterity: 'Twas not their infirmity, It was married chast.i.ty.

Truth may seem, but cannot be; Beauty brag, but 'tis not she; Truth and beauty buried be.

To this urn let those repair That are either true or fair; For these dead birds sigh a prayer.

can] knows.

William Shakespeare. 1564-1616

145. Sonnets i

SHALL I compare thee to a Summer's day?

Thou art more lovely and more temperate: Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May, And Summer's lease hath all too short a date: Sometime too hot the eye of heaven s.h.i.+nes, And often is his gold complexion dimm'd; And every fair from fair sometime declines, By chance or nature's changing course untrimm'd: But thy eternal Summer shall not fade Nor lose possession of that fair thou owest; Nor shall Death brag thou wanderest 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.

William Shakespeare. 1564-1616

146. Sonnets ii

WHEN, in disgrace with Fortune and men's eyes, I all alone beweep my outcast state, And trouble deaf heaven with my bootless cries, And look upon myself, and curse my fate, Wis.h.i.+ng me like to one more rich in hope, Featured like him, like him with friends possest, Desiring this man's art and that man's scope, With what I most enjoy contented least; Yet in these thoughts myself almost despising-- Haply I think on thee: and then my state, Like to the Lark at break of day arising From sullen earth, sings hymns at Heaven's gate; For thy sweet love rememb'red such wealth brings That then I scorn to change my state with Kings.

William Shakespeare. 1564-1616

147. Sonnets iii

WHEN to the Sessions of sweet silent thought I summon up remembrance of things past, I sigh the lack of many a thing I sought, And with old woes new wail my dear time's waste: Then can I drown an eye, unused to flow, For precious friends hid in death's dateless night, And weep afresh love's long-since-cancell'd woe, And moan th' expense of many a vanish'd sight: Then can I grieve at grievances foregone, And heavily from woe to woe tell o'er The sad account of fore-bemoaned moan, Which I new pay as if not paid before.

But if the while I think on thee, dear friend, All losses are restored and sorrows end.

William Shakespeare. 1564-1616

148. Sonnets iv

THY bosom is endeared with all hearts Which I, by lacking, have supposed dead: And there reigns Love, and all Love's loving parts, And all those friends which I thought buried.

How many a holy and obsequious tear Hath dear religious love stol'n from mine eye, As interest of the dead!--which now appear But things removed that hidden in thee lie.

Thou art the grave where buried love doth live, Hung with the trophies of my lovers gone, Who all their parts of me to thee did give: --That due of many now is thine alone: Their images I loved I view in thee, And thou, all they, hast all the all of me.

William Shakespeare. 1564-1616

149. Sonnets v

WHAT is your substance, whereof are you made, That millions of strange shadows on you tend?

Since every one hath, every one, one shade, And you, but one, can every shadow lend.

Describe Adonis, and the counterfeit Is poorly imitated after you; On Helen's cheek all art of beauty set, And you in Grecian tires are painted new: Speak of the spring and foison of the year, The one doth shadow of your beauty show, The other as your bounty doth appear; And you in every blessed shape we know.

In all external grace you have some part, But you like none, none you, for constant heart.

foison] plenty.