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Read Ebook: Chez les passants: fantaisies pamphlets et souvenirs. Suivi de pages inédites by Villiers De L Isle Adam Auguste Comte De
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Ebook has 898 lines and 63275 words, and 18 pages
A gown made of the finest wool, Which from our pretty lambs we'll pull; Fair lined slippers for the cold, With buckles of the purest gold.
Content
Sweet are the thoughts that savour of content, The quiet mind is richer than a crown, Sweet are the nights in careless slumber spent, The poor estate scorns fortune's angry frown; Such sweet content, such minds, such sleep, such bliss, Beggars enjoy, when princess oft do miss.
My Jean
To Celia
Drink to me only with thine eyes. And I will pledge with mine; Or leave a kiss but in the cup, And I'll not look for wine. The thirst that from the soul doth rise Doth ask a drink divine; But might I of Jove's nectar sup, I would not change for thine.
To His Mistress
Choose me your Valentine; Next, let us marry; Love to the death will pine If we long tarry.
Promise and keep your vows. Or vow ye never; Love's doctrine disallows Troth-breakers ever.
The Author's Resolution in a Sonnet
Shall a woman's Vertues move Me to perish for her love? Or her well deservings knowne Make me quite forget mine own? Be she with that Goodness blest Which may merit name of best: If she be not such to me, What care I how good she be?
Song
If the quick spirits in your eye Now languish, and anon must die; If ev'ry sweet and ev'ry grace Must fly from that forsaken face: Then, Celia, let us reap our joys Ere time such goodly fruit destroys.
Love Will Find the Way
Over the mountains And over the waves, Under the fountains And under the graves; Under the floods that are deepest, Which Neptune obey; Over the rocks that are steepest, Love will find out the way.
Where there is no place For the glow-worm to lie; Where there is no space For receipt of a fly; Where the midge dares not venture, Lest herself fast she lay; If Love come, he will enter And soon find out his way.
You may esteem him A child for his might; Or you may deem him A coward for his flight; But if she whom Love doth honour Be concealed from the day, Set a thousand guards upon her, Love will find out the way.
To Daffodils
Phillida Flouts Me
Oh, what a plague is love! I cannot bear it. She will inconstant prove, I greatly fear it; It so torments my mind, That my heart faileth. She wavers with the wind, As a ship saileth; Please her the best I may, She looks another way; Alack and well a-day! Phillida flouts me.
I often heard her say That she loved posies; In the last month of May I gave her roses, Cowslips and gilly flow'rs And the sweet lily, I got to deck the bow'rs Of my dear Philly; She did them all disdain, And threw them back again; Therefore, 'tis flat and plain Phillida flouts me.
Song to Flavia
'Tis not your beauty can engage My wary heart: The Sun, in all his pride and rage, Has not that art; And yet he shines as bright as you, If brightness could our souls subdue.
'Tis not the pretty things you say, Nor those you write, Which can make Thyrsis' heart your prey; For that delight, The graces of a well-taught mind, In some of our own sex we find.
Why so pale and wan, fond lover? Prithee, why so pale? Will, when looking well can't move her, Looking ill prevail? Prithee, why so pale?
Why so dull and mute, young sinner? Prithee, why so mute? Will, when speaking well can't win her, Saying nothing do't? Prithee, why so mute?
Unless with my Amanda blest, In vain I twine the woodbine bower; Unless to deck her sweeter breast, In vain I rear the breathing flower:
Once did my thoughts both ebb and flow, As passion did them move, Once did I hope, straight fear again,-- And then I was in love.
Once did I waking spend the night, And tell how many minutes move, Once did I wishing waste the day,-- And then I was in love.
Once, by my carving true love's knot, The weeping trees did prove That wounds and tears were both our lot,-- And then I was in love.
Once did I breathe another's breath, And in my mistress move, Once was I not mine own at all,-- And then I was in love.
Once wore I bracelets made of hair, And collars did approve, Once wore my clothes made out of wax,-- And then I was in love.
Once did I sonnet to my saint, My soul in numbers move, Once did I tell a thousand lies,-- And then I was in love.
To the Virgins, to Make Much of Time
Gather ye rosebuds while ye may, Old time is still a-flying: And this same flower that smiles today Tomorrow will be dying.
The glorious lamp of heaven, the Sun, The higher he's a-getting, The sooner will his race be run, And nearer he's to setting.
That age is best which is the first, When youth and blood are warmer; But being spent, the worse, and worst Times still succeed the former.
My Kate
She was not as pretty as women I know, And yet all your best made of sunshine and snow Drop to shade, melt to naught in the long-trodden ways, While she's still remember'd on warm and cold days-- My Kate.
Her air had a meaning, her movements a grace; You turn'd from the fairest to gaze on her face: And when you had once seen her forehead and mouth, You saw as distinctly her soul and her truth-- My Kate.
Such a blue inner light from her eyelids outbroke, You look'd at her silence and fancied she spoke: When she did, so peculiar yet soft was the tone, Tho' the loudest spoke also, you heard her alone-- My Kate.
I doubt if she said to you much that could act As a thought or suggestion: she did not attract In the sense of the brilliant or wise: I infer Twas her thinking of others, made you think of her-- My Kate.
She never found fault with you, never implied Your wrong by her right; and yet men at her side Grew nobler, girls purer, as thro' the whole town The children were gladder that pull'd at her gown-- My Kate.
None knelt at her feet confess'd lovers in thrall; They knelt more to God than they used,--that was all: If you praised her as charming, some ask'd what you meant. But the charm of her presence was felt when she went-- My Kate.
The weak and the gentle, the ribald and rude, She took as she found them, and did them all good; It always was so with her--see what you have! She has made the grass greener even here with her grave-- My Kate.
Grief
Love
No show of bolts and bars Can keep the foeman out, Or 'scape his secret mine Who enter'd with the doubt That drew the line. No warder at the gate Can let the friendly in; But, like the sun, o'er all He will the castle win, And shine along the wall.
Trust Thou Thy Love
Spiritual Love
What care I tho' beauty fading Die ere Time can turn his glass? What tho' locks the Graces braiding Perish like the summer grass? Tho' thy charms should all decay, Think not my affections may!
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