Then awake!--till rise of sun, my dear,
The Sage's glass we'll shun, my dear,
Or in watching the flight
Of bodies of light
He might happen to take thee for one, my dear!
583. The Irish Peasant to His Mistress
THROUGH grief and through danger thy smile hath cheer'd my way,
Till hope seem'd to bud from each thorn that round me lay;
The darker our fortune, the brighter our pure love burn'd,
Till shame into glory, till fear into zeal was turn'd:
Yes, slave as I was, in thy arms my spirit felt free,
And bless'd even the sorrows that made me more dear to thee.
Thy rival was honour'd, while thou wert wrong'd and scorn'd;
Thy crown was of briers, while gold her brows adorn'd;
She woo'd me to temples, whilst thou lay'st hid in caves;
Her friends were all masters, while thine, alas! were slaves;
Yet cold in the earth, at thy feet, I would rather be
Than wed what I loved not, or turn one thought from thee.
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You are a lovely
When down their bows
O then bespake her
Give her strewings but
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With that I saw
There she sees the
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But passion sometimes would
Away away for I
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199 The Dream DEAR
But O that deep
EMILY BRONTE 1818 1848
Sighs which are from
Each step trod out
630 Bards of Passion
Their winding sheet the
But lang lang after
Like Alexander I will
Your covetous hand Happy
SIR JOHN SUCKLING 1609
Flowers are lovely Love
They groan d they
No white nor red
A Hymn in Praise
Whate er she meant
Be kind to her
Be she sullen I
His shipmates drop down
Yet seem d it
The buzzard came with
With skill her eyes
733 Sorrow COUNT each
II I dream d
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The definition if he
Weep not my wanton
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