Ribblesdale

Related poetry:

1. Sonnet IV: Unthrifty Loveliness, Why Dost Thou Spend Unthrifty loveliness, why dost thou spend Upon thy self thy beauty’s legacy? Nature’s bequest gives nothing, but doth lend, And being frank she lends to those are free: Then, beauteous niggard, why dost thou abuse The bounteous largess given thee to give? Profitless usurer, why dost thou use So great a sum of sums, yet […]...
2. Sonnet 4: Unthrifty loveliness, why dost thou spend Unthrifty loveliness, why dost thou spend Upon thy self thy beauty’s legacy? Nature’s bequest gives nothing, but doth lend, And being frank she lends to those are free. Then, beauteous niggard why dost thou abuse, The bounteous largess given thee to give? Profitless usurer, why dost thou use So great a sum of sums yet […]...
3. Sonnet IV Unthrifty loveliness, why dost thou spend Upon thyself thy beauty’s legacy? Nature’s bequest gives nothing but doth lend, And being frank she lends to those are free. Then, beauteous niggard, why dost thou abuse The bounteous largess given thee to give? Profitless usurer, why dost thou use So great a sum of sums, yet canst […]...
4. 495. Song-Canst thou leave me thus, my Katie Chorus-Canst thou leave me thus, my Katie? Canst thou leave me thus, my Katie? Well thou know’st my aching heart, And canst thou leave me thus, for pity? IS this thy plighted, fond regard, Thus cruelly to part, my Katie? Is this thy faithful swain’s reward- An aching, broken heart, my Katie! Canst thou leave […]...
5. To The Nightingale Sweet bird, that sing’st away the early hours Of winters past or coming, void of care, Well pleased with delights which present are, (Fair seasons, budding sprays, sweet-smelling flowers) To rocks, to springs, to rills, from leafy bowers Thou thy Creator’s goodness dost declare, And what dear gifts on thee He did not spare: A […]...
6. Sonnet 89: Say that thou didst forsake me for some fault Say that thou didst forsake me for some fault, And I will comment upon that offence; Speak of my lameness, and I straight will halt, Against thy reasons making no defence. Thou canst not, love, disgrace me half so ill, To set a form upon desirèd change, As I’ll my self disgrace, knowing thy will, […]...
7. Sonnet LXXXIX Say that thou didst forsake me for some fault, And I will comment upon that offence; Speak of my lameness, and I straight will halt, Against thy reasons making no defence. Thou canst not, love, disgrace me half so ill, To set a form upon desired change, As I’ll myself disgrace: knowing thy will, I […]...
8. Sonnet XCV How sweet and lovely dost thou make the shame Which, like a canker in the fragrant rose, Doth spot the beauty of thy budding name! O, in what sweets dost thou thy sins enclose! That tongue that tells the story of thy days, Making lascivious comments on thy sport, Cannot dispraise but in a kind […]...
9. Sonnet 95: How sweet and lovely dost thou make the shame How sweet and lovely dost thou make the shame Which, like a canker in the fragrant rose, Doth spot the beauty of thy budding name! O, in what sweets dost thou thy sins enclose! That tongue that tells the story of thy days, Making lascivious comments on thy sport, Cannot dispraise, but in a kind […]...
10. Tides O patient shore, thou canst not go to meet Thy love, the restless sea, how comfortest Thou all thy loneliness? Art thou at rest, When, loosing his strong arms from round thy feet, He turns away? Know’st thou, however sweet That other shore may be, that to thy breast He must return? And when in […]...
11. Virtue Sweet day, so cool, so calm, so bright, The bridal of the earth and sky, The dew shall weep thy fall tonight; For thou must die. Sweet rose, whose hue angry and brave Bids the rash gazer wipe his eye, Thy root is ever in its grave, And thou must die. Sweet spring, full of […]...
12. The Hawk Thou dost not fly, thou art not perched, The air is all around: What is it that can keep thee set, From falling to the ground? The concentration of thy mind Supports thee in the air; As thou dost watch the small young birgs, With such a deadly care. My mind has such a hawk […]...
13. A Better Answer Dear Chloe, how blubbered is that pretty face; Thy cheek all on fire, and thy hair all uncurled! Prithee quit this caprice, and (as old Falstaff says) Let us e’en talk a little like folks of this world. How canst thou presume thou hast leave to destroy The beauties which Venus but lent to thy […]...
14. Sonnet XXVIII: Weak Is the Sophistry Weak is the sophistry, and vain the art That whispers patience to the mind’s despair! That bids reflection bathe the wounds of care, While Hope, with pleasing phantoms, soothes their smart. For mem’ry still, reluctant to depart From the dear spot, once rich in prospects fair, Bids the fond soul enamour’d there, And its least […]...
15. To Chloe Jealous Dear Chloe, how blubber’d is that pretty face; Thy cheek all on fire, and thy hair all uncurl’d: Prythee quit this caprice; and (as old Falstaff says) Let us e’en talk a little like folks of this world. How canst thou presume, thou hast leave to destroy The beauties, which Venus but lent to thy […]...
16. Holy Sonnet X: Death Be Not Proud Death, be not proud, though some have callèd thee Mighty and dreadful, for thou art not so; For those whom thou think’st thou dost overthrow Die not, poor death, nor yet canst thou kill me. From rest and sleep, which yet thy pictures be, Much pleasure, then from thee much more, must low And soonest […]...
17. Sonnet LII: What? Dost Thou Mean What? Dost thou mean to cheat me of my heart? To take all mine and give me none again? Or have thine eyes such magic or that art That what they get they ever do retain? Play not the tyrant, but take some remorse; Rebate thy spleen, if but for pity’s sake; Or, cruel, if […]...
18. To The Accuser Who is The God of This World Truly My Satan thou art but a Dunce And dost not know the Garment from the Man Every Harlot was a Virgin once Nor canst thou ever change Kate into Nan Tho thou art Worship’d by the Names Divine Of Jesus & Jehovah thou art still The Son of Morn in weary Nights decline The […]...
19. Sonnet 04 – Thou hast thy calling to some palace-floor Thou hast thy calling to some palace-floor, Most gracious singer of high poems! where The dancers will break footing, from the care Of watching up thy pregnant lips for more. And dost thou lift this house’s latch too poor For hand of thine? and canst thou think and bear To let thy music drop here […]...
20. HIS COVENANT OR PROTESTATION TO JULIA Why dost thou wound and break my heart, As if we should for ever part? Hast thou not heard an oath from me, After a day, or two, or three, I would come back and live with thee? Take, if thou dost distrust that vow, This second protestation now: Upon thy cheek that spangled tear, […]...
21. Where Thou art that is Home Where Thou art that is Home Cashmere or Calvary the same Degree or Shame I scarce esteem Location’s Name So I may Come What Thou dost is Delight Bondage as Play be sweet Imprisonment Content And Sentence Sacrament Just We two meet Where Thou art not is Woe Tho’ Bands of Spices row What Thou […]...
22. 483. Esteem for Chloris AH, Chloris, since it may not be, That thou of love wilt hear; If from the lover thou maun flee, Yet let the friend be dear. Altho’ I love my Chloris mair Than ever tongue could tell; My passion I will ne’er declare- I’ll say, I wish thee well. Tho’ a’ my daily care thou […]...
23. Land, Ho! I know ’tis but a loom of land, Yet is it land, and so I will rejoice, I know I cannot hear His voice Upon the shore, nor see Him stand; Yet is it land, ho! land. The land! the land! the lovely land! ‘Far off,’ dost say? Far off-ah, blessиd home! Farewell! farewell! thou […]...
24. Sonnet 38: How can my Muse want subject to invent How can my Muse want subject to invent While thou dost breathe, that pour’st into my verse Thine own sweet argument, too excellent For every vulgar paper to rehearse? O, give thyself the thanks, if aught in me Worthy perusal stand against thy sight, For who’s so dumb that cannot write to thee, When thou […]...
25. On The Death Of A Fair Infant Dying Of A Cough I O fairest flower no sooner blown but blasted, Soft silken Primrose fading timelesslie, Summers chief honour if thou hadst outlasted Bleak winters force that made thy blossome drie; For he being amorous on that lovely die That did thy cheek envermeil, thought to kiss But kill’d alas, and then bewayl’d his fatal bliss. II […]...
26. The Temper (II) It cannot be. Where is that mighty joy, Which just now took up all my heart? Lord, if thou must needs use thy dart, Save that, and me; or sin for both destroy. The grosser world stand to thy word and art; But thy diviner world of grace Thou suddenly dost raise and race, And […]...
27. Ode On A Grecian Urn Thou still unravish’d bride of quietness, Thou foster-child of silence and slow time, Sylvan historian, who canst thus express A flowery tale more sweetly than our rhyme: What leaf-fring’d legend haunts about thy shape Of deities or mortals, or of both, In Tempe or the dales of Arcady? What men or gods are these? What […]...
28. To The Nile Son of the old Moon-mountains African! Chief of the Pyramid and Crocodile! We call thee fruitful, and that very while A desert fills our seeing’s inward span: Nurse of swart nations since the world began, Art thou so fruitful? or dost thou beguile Such men to honour thee, who, worn with toil, Rest for a […]...
29. Sonnet 21 – Say over again, and yet once over again Say over again, and yet once over again, That thou dost love me. Though the word repeated Should seem ‘a cuckoo-song,’ as thou dost treat it, Remember, never to the hill or plain, Valley and wood, without her cuckoo-strain Comes the fresh Spring in all her green completed. Beloved, I, amid the darkness greeted By […]...
30. A Dialogue I DEATH, if thou wilt, fain would I plead with thee: Canst thou not spare, of all our hopes have built, One shelter where our spirits fain would be, Death, if thou wit? No dome with suns and dews impearled and gilt, Imperial: but some roof of wildwood tree, Too mean for sceptre’s heft or […]...
31. A Dialog I. Death, if thou wilt, fain would I plead with thee: Canst thou not spare, of all our hopes have built, One shelter where our spirits fain would be, Death, if thou wilt? No dome with suns and dews impearled and gilt, Imperial: but some roof of wildwood tree, Too mean for sceptre’s heft or […]...
32. In Salutation to the Eternal Peace Men say the world is full of fear and hate, And all life’s ripening harvest-fields await The restless sickle of relentless fate. But I, sweet Soul, rejoice that I was born, When from the climbing terraces of corn I watch the golden orioles of Thy morn. What care I for the world’s desire and pride, […]...
33. Sonnet CXLII Love is my sin and thy dear virtue hate, Hate of my sin, grounded on sinful loving: O, but with mine compare thou thine own state, And thou shalt find it merits not reproving; Or, if it do, not from those lips of thine, That have profaned their scarlet ornaments And seal’d false bonds of […]...
34. A Fish Answers Amazing monster! that, for aught I know, With the first sight of thee didst make our race For ever stare! O flat and shocking face, Grimly divided from the breast below! Thou that on dry land horribly dost go With a split body and most ridiculous pace, Prong after prong, disgracer of all grace, Long-useless-finned, […]...
35. Sonnet 142: Love is my sin, and thy dear virtue hate Love is my sin, and thy dear virtue hate, Hate of my sin, grounded on sinful loving, O, but with mine, compare thou thine own state, And thou shalt find it merits not reproving, Or if it do, not from those lips of thine That have profaned their scarlet ornaments And sealed false bonds of […]...
36. Idea XXXVII: Dear, why should you command me to my rest Dear, why should you command me to my rest When now the night doth summon all to sleep? Methinks this time becometh lovers best; Night was ordain’d together friends to keep. How happy are all other living things Which, though the day disjoin by sev’ral flight, The quiet ev’ning yet together brings, And each returns […]...
37. An Epitaph on the Admirable Dramatic Poet W. Shakespeare What needs my Shakespeare for his honored bones The labor of an age in piled stones? Or that his hallowed reliques should be hid Under a star-ypointing pyramid? Dear son of Memory, great heir of Fame, What need’st thou such weak witness of thy name? Thou in our wonder and astonishment Hast built thy self […]...
38. THE ERL-KING WHO rides there so late through the night dark and drear? The father it is, with his infant so dear; He holdeth the boy tightly clasp’d in his arm, He holdeth him safely, he keepeth him warm. “My son, wherefore seek’st thou thy face thus to hide?” “Look, father, the Erl-King is close by our […]...
39. To An Unborn Pauper Child Breathe not, hid Heart: cease silently, And though thy birth-hour beckons thee, Sleep the long sleep: The Doomsters heap Travails and teens around us here, And Time-Wraiths turn our songsingings to fear. Hark, how the peoples surge and sigh, And laughters fail, and greetings die; Hopes dwindle; yea, Faiths waste away, Affections and enthusiasms numb: […]...
40. Another Phoebus make haste, the day’s too long, be gone, The silent night’s the fittest time for moan; But stay this once, unto my suit give ear, And tell my griefs in either hemisphere. (And if the whirling of thy wheels don’t drown’d) The woeful accents of my doleful sound, If in thy swift carrier thou […]...