My joy is death-
Death, at whose name I oft have been afeard,
Because I wish'd this world's eternity.
My joy is death-
Death, at whose name I oft have been afeard,
Because I wish'd this world's eternity.
Death is the fairest cover for her shame
That may be wish'd for.
She wish'd she had not heard it, yet she wish'd
That heaven had made her such a man; she thank'd me,
And bade me, if I had a friend that loved her,
I should but teach him how to tell my story,
And that would woo her.
Love, whose month is ever May,
Spied a blossom passing fair
Playing in the wanton air:
Through the velvet leaves the wind
All unseen 'gan passage find;
That the lover, sick to death,
Wish'd himself the heaven's breath.
I've often wish'd that I had clear, For life, six hundred pounds a year A handsome house to lodge a friend A river at my garden's end A terrace walk, and half a rood Of land set out to plant a wood.
Large was his bounty, and his soul sincere, Heaven did a recompense as largely send He gave to mis'ry (all he had) a tear, He gained from Heav'n ('t was all he wish'd) a friend.
How rarely does it meet with this time's guise,
When man was wish'd to love his enemies!
A Female Friend advis'd a Swain
(Whose Heart she wish'd at ease)
Make Love thy Pleasure, not thy Pain,
Nor let it deeply seize.
Back through the paths of pleasing sense I ran,
Nor wish'd an Angel whom I lov'd a Man.
He saw, he wish'd, and to the prize aspir'd. Resolv'd to win, he meditates the way, By force to ravish, or by fraud betray; For when success a lover's toil attends, Few ask, if fraud or force attain'd his ends.
© 2020 Inspirational Stories
© 2020 Inspirational Stories