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Aeneid Astrophel and Stella ballads beauty bokes Burns Caelica Chaucer clere Clerk Saunders dead death delight Dido doth doun drede Edom English English poetry eyes Faery Queen fair fayre floures flowre Glasgerion gold grace grene gret grete gude hand hart hast hath heart heaven herte hire honour king Kinmont Kinmont Willie lady ladye live Lord lovers Lydgate mind mony myght never night nocht nought Petrarch poem poet poet's poetical poetry quhat Quhen quhilk quod quoth Robin Hood sall sayd sche Scotch seyde shal Sidney sight sing Sir Patrick Spens song sonne sonnets sorwe Spenser story sweet swete swich thair thay thee ther thing thou thought thow Timor Mortis conturbat trewe Troylus true truth tyme unto Venus verse virtue whan wight wolde word write wyth
Page 460 - O, for my sake do you with Fortune chide, The guilty goddess of my harmful deeds, That did not better for my life provide, Than public means, which public manners breeds, Thence comes it that my name receives a brand, And almost thence my nature is subdued To what it works in, like the dyer's hand...
Page 451 - 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.
Page 351 - With how sad steps, O Moon, thou climb'st the skies : How silently ; and with how wan a face ! What ! may it be, that even in heavenly place That busy Archer his sharp arrows tries?
Page 463 - Come away, come away, death, And in sad cypress let me be laid ; Fly away, fly away, breath ; I am slain by a fair cruel maid. My shroud of white, stuck all with yew, O, prepare it ! My part of death, no one so true Did share it.
Page 454 - So am I as the rich, whose blessed key Can bring him to his sweet up-locked treasure, The which he will not every hour survey, For blunting the fine point of seldom pleasure. Therefore are feasts so solemn and so rare, Since seldom coming, in the long year set, Like stones of worth they thinly placed are, Or captain* jewels in the carcanet.
Page 451 - 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...
Page xvii - The future of poetry is immense, because in poetry, where it is worthy of its high destinies, our race, as time goes on, will find an ever surer and surer stay. There is not a creed which is not shaken, not an accredited dogma which is not shown to be questionable, not a received tradition which does not threaten to dissolve.
Page 536 - 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.
Page 230 - There lived a wife at Usher's Well, And a wealthy wife was she; She had three stout and stalwart sons, And sent them o'er the sea. They hadna been a week from her, A week but barely ane, When word came to the carline wife That her three sons were gane.