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Best Famous Richard Lovelace Poems

Here is a collection of the all-time best famous Richard Lovelace poems. This is a select list of the best famous Richard Lovelace poetry. Reading, writing, and enjoying famous Richard Lovelace poetry (as well as classical and contemporary poems) is a great past time. These top poems are the best examples of Richard Lovelace poems.

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by Richard Lovelace | |

The Scrutiny

 Why should you swear I am forsworn,
Since thine I vowed to be?
Lady, it is already morn,
And 'twas last night I swore to thee
That fond impossibility.
Have I not loved thee much and long, A tedious twelve hours' space? I must all other beauties wrong, And rob thee of a new embrace, Could I still dote upon thy face.
Not but all joy in thy brown hair By others may be found;— But I must search the black and fair, Like skilful mineralists that sound For treasure in unploughed-up ground.
Then if, when I have loved my round, Thou prov'st the pleasant she, With spoils of meaner beauties crowned I laden will return to thee, Ev'n sated with variety.

by Richard Lovelace | |

To Lucasta Going Beyond The Seas

 If to be absent were to be
Away from thee;
Or that when I am gone,
You or I were alone,— 
Then, my Lucasta, might I crave
Pity from blust'ring wind or swallowing wave.
But I'll not sigh one blast or gale To swell my sail, Or pay a tear to 'suage The foaming blue god's rage; For whether he will let me pass Or no, I'm still as happy as I was.
Though seas and land betwixt us both, Our faith and troth, Like separated souls, All time and space controls: Above the highest sphere we meet Unseen, unknown, and greet as angels greet.
So then we do anticipate Our after-fate, And are alive i'th' skies, If thus our lips and eyes Can speak like spirits unconfined In Heaven, their earthy bodies left behind.

by Richard Lovelace | |

To Lucasta Going To The Wars

 Tell me not, Sweet, I am unkind,
That from the nunnery
Of thy chaste breasts, and quiet mind,
To war and arms I fly.
True, a new mistress now I chase, The first foe in the field; And with a stronger faith embrace A sword, a horse, a shield.
Yet this inconstancy is such, As you too shall adore; I could not love thee, Dear, so much, Loved I not honour more.

by Richard Lovelace | |

The Rose

 Sweet serene sky-like flower,
Haste to adorn her bower;
From thy long cloudy bed
Shoot forth thy damask head!

New-startled blush of Flora,
The grief of pale Aurora,
Who will contest no more,
Haste, haste to strew her floor!

Vermilion ball that's given
From lip to lip in heaven,
Love's couch's coverlet,
Haste, haste to make her bed!

Dear offspring of pleased Venus
And jolly plump Silenus,
Haste, haste to deck the hair
Of the only sweetly fair!

See! rosy is her bower,
Her floor is all this flower;
Her bed a rosy nest
By a bed of roses pressed.
But early as she dresses, Why fly you her bright tresses? Ah! I have found, I fear,— Because her cheeks are near.

by Richard Lovelace | |

To Althea From Prison

 When love with unconfined wings
Hovers within my gates,
And my divine Althea brings
To whisper at the grates;
When I lie tangled in her hair,
And fettered to her eye,
The birds that wanton in the air
Know no such liberty.
When flowing cups run swiftly round With no allaying Thames, Our careless heads with roses bound, Our hearts with loyal flames; When thirsty grief in wine we steep, When healths and draughts go free, Fishes that tipple in the deep Know no such liberty.
When, like committed linnets, I With shriller throat shall sing The sweetness, mercy, majesty, And glories of my King; When I shall voice aloud how good He is, how great should be, Enlarged winds that curl the flood Know no such liberty.
Stone walls do not a prison make, Nor iron bars a cage; Minds innocent and quiet take That for an hermitage; If I have freedom in my love, And in my soul am free, Angels alone, that soar above, Enjoy such liberty.

by Richard Lovelace | |

To Amarantha That She Would Dishevel Her Hair

 Amarantha, sweet and fair,
Ah, braid no more that shining hair!
As my curious hand or eye
Hovering round thee, let it fly!

Let it fly as unconfined
As its calm ravisher the wind,
Who hath left his darling th' East,
To wanton o'er that spicy nest.
Every tress must be confessed But neatly tangled at the best, Like a clew of golden thread Most excellently ravelled.
Do not then wind up that light In ribbands, and o'ercloud in night, Like the sun in 's early ray; But shake your head and scatter day! See, 'tis broke! Within this grove, The bower and the walks of love, Weary lie we down and rest, And fan each other's panting breast.
Here we'll strip and cool our fire, In cream below, in milk-baths higher, And when all wells are drawn dry, I'll drink a tear out of thine eye.
Which our very joys shall leave, That sorrows thus we can deceive; Or our very sorrows weep, That joys so ripe, so little keep.