"BREAK, BREAK, BREAK" BREAK, break, break, On thy cold gray stones, O Sea! The thoughts that arise in me. O, well for the fisherman's boy, That he shouts with his sister at play! O, well for the sailor lad, That he sings in his boat on the bay! And the stately ships go on, To their haven under the hill; But O for the touch of a vanished hand, Break, break, break, At the foot of thy crags, O Sea! But the tender grace of a day that is dead Will never come back to me. Alfred Tennyson [1809-1892] EROS THE sense of the world is short,— To love and be beloved; Men and gods have not outlearned it; 'Tis not to be improved. Ralph Waldo Emerson [1803-1882] "NOW WHAT IS LOVE" "NOW WHAT IS LOVE" Now what is Love, I pray thee, tell? Yet what is Love, I prithee, say? It is December matched with May, Yet what is Love, good shepherd, sain? Yet, shepherd, what is Love, I pray? A pretty kind of sporting fray, It is a thing will soon away. Then, nymphs, take vantage while ye may; 1 Yet what is Love, good shepherd, show? Walter Raleigh [1552?-1618] WOOING SONG From "Christ's Victory" LOVE is the blossom where there blows Every thing that lives or grows: Love doth make the Heavens to move, And the Sun doth burn in love: Love the strong and weak doth yoke, And makes the ivy climb the oak, Under whose shadows lions wild, Softened by love, grow tame and mild; Love no medicine can appease, He burns fishes in the seas: Not all the skill his wounds can stench, Not all the sea his fire can quench. Love did make the bloody spear Once a leavy coat to wear, While in his leaves there shrouded lay Sweet birds, for love that sing and play And of all love's joyful flame I the bud and blossom am. Only bend thy knee to me, Thy wooing shall thy winning be! See, see the flowers that below That as bright Aurora shows; Losing their virginity! Like unto a summer shade, But now born, and now they fade. Every thing doth pass away; There is danger in delay: Come, come, gather then the rose, Gather it, or it you lose! |