Author: William Drummond

Sweet bird, that sing’st away the early hours Of winters past or coming, void of care, Well pleased with delights […]

My lute, be as thou wert when thou didst grow With thy green mother in some shady grove, When immelodious […]

This Life, which seems so fair, Is like a bubble blown up in the air By sporting children’s breath, Who […]

Phoebus, arise! And paint the sable skies With azure, white, and red: Rouse Memnon’s mother from her Tithon’s bed That […]

My thoughts hold mortal strife; I do detest my life, And with lamenting cries Peace to my soul to bring […]

Doth then the world go thus? doth all thus move? Is this the justice which on earth we find? Is […]