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Not a flower, not a flower sweet,
Not a friend, not a friend greet
Lay me, O, where
My spotless love hovers with purest wings,
My ambitious thoughts, confined in her face,
For She, that can my heart imparadise,
All my life's sweet consists in her alone;
And yet I cannot reprehend the flight
For who gets wealth, that puts not from the shore ?
Suffice that high attempts have never shame.
And therefore, Delia, 'tis to me no blot
Love wing'd my Hopes and taught me how to fly
For true pleasure
Which if men forsake,
But my vain Hopes, proud of their new-taught
Whose rich brightness
To aspire so high
drown’d in woe they lie.
Though fate frowned,
They in sorrow dwell, It was the purest light of heav'n for whose fair love they fell.
Anon. CXCVIII ARISE, my Thoughts, and mount you with the sun! Call all the winds to make you speedy wings, And to my fairest Maia see you run And weep your last while wantonly she sings : Then if you cannot move her heart to pity, Let Oh, alas, ay me! be all your ditty. Arise, my Thoughts, beyond the highest star! And gently rest you in fair Maia's eye, For that is fairer than the brightest are : But, if she frown to see you climb so high, Couch in her lap, and with a moving ditty Of smiles and love and kisses beg for pity.
My Thoughts are wing’d with Hopes, my Hopes
with Love: Mount, Love, unto the Moon in clearest night, And say, As she doth in the heavens move, In earth so wanes and waxes my delight: And whisper this, but softly, in her ears, ‘Hope oft doth hang the head and Trust shed tears.'
TRUE DEVOTION Follow your saint, follow with accents sweet ! Haste you, sad notes, fall at her flying feet! There, wrapt in cloud of sorrow, pity move, And tell the ravisher of my soul I perish for her love: But if she scorn my never-ceasing pain, Then burst with sighing in her sight, and ne'er
All that I sang still to her praise did tend;
Follow thy fair sun, unhappy shadow!
Though thou be black as night,
And she made all of light,
Follow her, whose light thy light depriveth !
Though here thou liv'st disgraced,
And she in heaven is placed,
Follow those pure beams, whose beauty burneth !
That so have scorched thee
As thou still black must be, Till her kind beams thy black to brightness turneth.
Follow her, while yet her glory shineth !
There comes a luckless night
That will dim all her light;
Follow still, since so thy fates ordained !
The sun must have his shade,
Till both at once do fade,-