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“Since there's no help, come, let us kiss and part,
Nay, I have done, you get no more of me,
And I am glad, yea, glad with all my heart,
That thus so cleanly I myself can free.
Shake hands for ever, cancel all our vows,
And when we meet at any time again
Be it not seen in either of our brows
That we one jot of former love retain.
Now at the last gasp of Love's latest breath,
When, his pulse failing, Passion speechless lies,
When Faith is kneeling by his bed of death,
And Innocence is closing up his eyes,
Now, if thou wouldst, when all have giv'n him over,
From death to life thou might'st him yet recover.
- Sonnet LXI”
― Idea: Elizabethan Sonnet Cycle
Nay, I have done, you get no more of me,
And I am glad, yea, glad with all my heart,
That thus so cleanly I myself can free.
Shake hands for ever, cancel all our vows,
And when we meet at any time again
Be it not seen in either of our brows
That we one jot of former love retain.
Now at the last gasp of Love's latest breath,
When, his pulse failing, Passion speechless lies,
When Faith is kneeling by his bed of death,
And Innocence is closing up his eyes,
Now, if thou wouldst, when all have giv'n him over,
From death to life thou might'st him yet recover.
- Sonnet LXI”
― Idea: Elizabethan Sonnet Cycle
“Bright Star Of Beauty
Bright star of beauty, on whose eyelids sit
A thousand nymph-like and enamour'd Graces,
The Goddesses of Memory and Wit,
Which there in order take their several places;
In whose dear bosom sweet delicious Love
Lays down his quiver, which he once did bear,
Since he that blessed Paradise did prove,
And leaves his mother's lap to sport him there.
Let others strive to entertain with words;
My soul is of a braver metal made;
I hold that vile which vulgar wit affords;
In me's that faith which Time cannot invade.
Let what I praise be still made good by you;
Be you most worthy, whilst I am most true”
―
Bright star of beauty, on whose eyelids sit
A thousand nymph-like and enamour'd Graces,
The Goddesses of Memory and Wit,
Which there in order take their several places;
In whose dear bosom sweet delicious Love
Lays down his quiver, which he once did bear,
Since he that blessed Paradise did prove,
And leaves his mother's lap to sport him there.
Let others strive to entertain with words;
My soul is of a braver metal made;
I hold that vile which vulgar wit affords;
In me's that faith which Time cannot invade.
Let what I praise be still made good by you;
Be you most worthy, whilst I am most true”
―
“Why do I speak of joy or write of love,
When my heart is the very den of horror,
And in my soul the pains of hell I prove,
With all his tormented and infernal terror?
What should I say? what yet remains to do?
My brain is dry with weeping all too long;
My signs be spent in utt'ring of my woe,
And I want words wherewith to tell my wrong.
Love's Lunacy: Sonnet XLI”
― Idea: Elizabethan Sonnet Cycle
When my heart is the very den of horror,
And in my soul the pains of hell I prove,
With all his tormented and infernal terror?
What should I say? what yet remains to do?
My brain is dry with weeping all too long;
My signs be spent in utt'ring of my woe,
And I want words wherewith to tell my wrong.
Love's Lunacy: Sonnet XLI”
― Idea: Elizabethan Sonnet Cycle
“I have, I want, despair, and yet desire,
Burned in a sea of ice, and drowned amidst a fire."
- Sonnet LXII”
― Idea: Elizabethan Sonnet Cycle
Burned in a sea of ice, and drowned amidst a fire."
- Sonnet LXII”
― Idea: Elizabethan Sonnet Cycle
“Into these loves who but for passion looks,
At this first sight here let him lay them by,
And seek elsewhere in turning other books,
Which better might his labour satisfy.
To the Reader of these Sonnets”
― Idea: Elizabethan Sonnet Cycle
At this first sight here let him lay them by,
And seek elsewhere in turning other books,
Which better might his labour satisfy.
To the Reader of these Sonnets”
― Idea: Elizabethan Sonnet Cycle
