The Golden Treasury | Page 7

wax'd blind, and till the world were done.
Whereso'er I am, below, or else above you,
Whereso'er you are, my
heart shall truly love you.
J. SYLVESTER.
26. CARPE DIEM.
O Mistress mine, where are you roaming?
O, stay and hear! your
true-love's coming
That can sing both high and low;
Trip no further, pretty sweeting,

Journeys end in lovers' meeting--
Every wise man's son doth know.
What is love? 'tis not hereafter;
Present mirth hath present laughter;

What's to come is still unsure:
In delay there lies no plenty,--
Then
come kiss me, Sweet-and-twenty,
Youth's a stuff will not endure.
W. SHAKESPEARE.
27. WINTER.
When icicles hang by the wall
And Dick the shepherd blows his nail,

And Tom bears logs into the hall,
And milk comes frozen home in
pail;
When blood is nipt, and ways be foul,
Then nightly sings the
staring owl
Tuwhoo!
Tuwhit! Tuwhoo! A merry note!
While greasy Joan doth
keel the pot.
When all around the wind doth blow,
And coughing drowns the
parson's saw,
And birds sit brooding in the snow,
And Marian's
nose looks red and raw:
When roasted crabs hiss in the bowl--
Then
nightly sings the staring owl
Tuwhoo!
Tuwhit! Tuwhoo! A merry note!
While greasy Joan doth
keel the pot.
W. SHAKESPEARE.
28.
That time of year thou may'st in me behold
When yellow leaves, or
none, or few do hang
Upon those boughs which shake against the
cold,
Bare ruin'd choirs, where late the sweet birds sang.
In me thou seest the twilight of such day
As after sunset fadeth in the
west,
Which by and by black night doth take away,
Death's second
self, that seals up all in rest.

In me thou seest the glowing of such fire,
That on the ashes of his
youth doth lie
As the deathbed whereon it must expire,
Consumed
with that which it was nourish'd by.
--This thou perceiv'st, which makes thy love more strong, To love that
well which thou must leave ere long.
W. SHAKESPEARE.
29. REMEMBRANCE.
When to the sessions of sweet silent thought
I summon up
remembrance of things past,
I sigh the lack of many a thing I sought,

And with old woes new wail my dear time's waste
Then can I drown an eye, unused to flow,
For precious friends hid in
death's dateless night,
And weep afresh love's long-since-cancell'd
woe,
And moan the expense of many a vanish'd sight.
Then can I grieve at grievances foregone,
And heavily from woe to
woe tell o'er
The sad account of fore-bemoanéd moan,
Which I new
pay as if not paid before:
--But if the while I think on thee, dear friend,
All losses are restored,
and sorrows end.
W. SHAKESPEARE.
30. REVOLUTIONS.
Like as the waves make towards the pebbled shore
So do our minutes
hasten to their end;
Each changing place with that which goes before,

In sequent toil all forwards do contend.
Nativity once in the main of light
Crawls to maturity, wherewith
being crown'd,
Crooked eclipses 'gainst his glory fight,
And Time

that gave, doth now his gift confound.
Time doth transfix the flourish set on youth,
And delves the parallels
in beauty's brow;
Feeds on the rarities of nature's truth,
And nothing
stands but for his scythe to mow.
And yet, to times in hope, my verse shall stand
Praising Thy worth,
despite his cruel hand.
W. SHAKESPEARE.
31.
Farewell! thou art too dear for my possessing,
And like enough thou
know'st thy estimate:
The charter of thy worth gives thee releasing,

My bonds in thee are all determinate.
For how do I hold thee but by thy granting?
And for that riches where
is my deserving?
The cause of this fair gift in me is wanting,
And
so my patent back again is swerving.
Thyself thou gav'st, thy own worth then not knowing,
Or me, to
whom thou gav'st it, else mistaking;
So thy great gift, upon
misprision growing,
Comes home again, on better judgement making.
Thus have I had thee as a dream doth flatter;
In sleep, a king; but
waking, no such matter.
W. SHAKESPEARE.
32. THE LIFE WITHOUT PASSION.
They that have power to hurt, and will do none,
That do not do the
thing they most do show,
Who, moving others, are themselves as
stone,
Unmovéd, cold, and to temptation slow,--
They rightly do inherit Heaven's graces,
And husband nature's riches

from expense;
They are the lords and owners of their faces,
Others,
but stewards of their excellence.
The summer's flower is to the summer sweet,
Though to itself it only
live and die;
But if that flower with base infection meet,
The basest
weed outbraves his dignity:
For sweetest things turn sourest by their deeds;
Lilies that fester smell
far worse than weeds.
W. SHAKESPEARE.
33. THE LOVER'S APPEAL.
And wilt thou leave me thus?
Say nay! say nay! for shame,
To save
thee from the blame
Of all my grief and grame.
And wilt thou leave
me thus?
Say nay! say nay!
And wilt thou leave me thus,
That hath loved thee so long
In wealth
and woe among:
And is thy heart so strong
As for to leave me thus?

Say nay! say nay!
And wilt thou leave me thus,
That hath given thee my heart
Never
for