Written by
Ben Jonson |
XI.
— EPODE.
And her black spite expel,
Which to effect (since no breast is so sure,
Or safe, but she'll procure
Some way of entrance) we must plant a guard
Of thoughts to watch, and ward
At the eye and ear, the ports unto the mind, Give knowledge instantly,
To wakeful reason, our affections' king :
Who, in th' examining,
Will quickly taste the treason, and commit
Close, the close cause of it.
'Tis the securest policy we have,
To make our sense our slave.
But this true course is not embraced by many : Or else the sentinel,
That should ring larum to the heart, doth sleep ;
Or some great thought doth keep
Back the intelligence, and falsely swears,
They are base, and idle fears
Whereof the loyal conscience so complains,
Thus, by these subtile trains,
Do several passions invade the mind, The first ; as prone to move
Most frequent tumults, horrors, and unrests,
In our enflamed breasts :
But this doth from the cloud of error grow,
Which thus we over-blow.
The thing they here call Love, is blind desire,
Arm'd with bow, shafts, and fire ;
Inconstant, like the sea, of whence 'tis born, And boils, as if he were
In a continual tempest.
Now, true love
No such effects doth prove ;
That is an essence far more gentle, fine,
Pure, perfect, nay divine ;
It is a golden chain let down from heaven,
Whose links are bright and even,
That falls like sleep on lovers, and combines To murder different hearts,
But in a calm, and god-like unity,
Preserves community.
O, who is he, that, in this peace, enjoys
The elixir of all joys ?
A form more fresh than are the Eden bowers,
And lasting as her flowers :
Richer than Time, and as time's virtue rare Who, blest with such high chance
Would, at suggestion of a steep desire,
Cast himself from the spire
Of all his happiness ? But soft : I hear
Some vicious fool draw near,
That cries, we dream, and swears there's no such thing,
As this chaste love we sing.
Peace, Luxury, thou art like one of those No, Vice, we let thee know,
Though thy wild thoughts with sparrows' wings do flie,
Turtles can chastly die ;
And yet (in this t' express ourselves more clear)
We do not number here
Such spirits as are only continent,
Because lust's means are spent :
Or those, who doubt the common mouth of fame, Is mere necessity.
Nor mean we those, whom vows and conscience
Have fill'd with abstinence :
Though we acknowledge, who can so abstain,
Makes a most blessed gain.
He that for love of goodness hateth ill,
Is more crown-worthy still,
Than he, which for sin's penalty forbears ; Graced with a Phoenix' love ;
A beauty of that clear and sparkling light,
Would make a day of night,
And turn the blackest sorrows to bright joys ;
Whose odorous breath destroys
All taste of bitterness, and makes the air
As sweet as she is fair.
A body so harmoniously composed, O, so divine a creature,
Who could be false to? chiefly, when he knows
How only she bestows
The wealthy treasure of her love on him ;
Making his fortune swim
In the full flood of her admired perfection ?
What savage, brute affection,
Would not be fearful to offend a dame To virtuous moods inclined
That knows the weight of guilt ; he will refrain
From thoughts of such a strain,
And to his sense object this sentence ever,
"Man may securely sin, but safely never.
"
Is virtue and not fate :
Next to that virtue, is to know vice well,
And her black spite expel,
Which to effect (since no breast is so sure,
Or safe, but she'll procure
Some way of entrance) we must plant a guard
Of thoughts to watch, and ward
At the eye and ear, the ports unto the mind,
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Written by
Alfred Austin |
Now do I know that Love is blind, for I
Can see no beauty on this beauteous earth,
No life, no light, no hopefulness, no mirth,
Pleasure nor purpose, when thou art not nigh.
Thy absence exiles sunshine from the sky,
Seres Spring's maturity, checks Summer's birth,
Leaves linnet's pipe as sad as plover's cry,
And makes me in abundance find but dearth.
But when thy feet flutter the dark, and thou
With orient eyes dawnest on my distress,
Suddenly sings a bird on every bough,
The heavens expand, the earth grows less and less,
The ground is buoyant as the ether now,
And all looks lovely in thy loveliness.
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Written by
William Cullen Bryant |
Love's worshippers alone can know
The thousand mysteries that are his;
His blazing torch, his twanging bow,
His blooming age are mysteries.
A charming science--but the day
Were all too short to con it o'er;
So take of me this little lay,
A sample of its boundless lore.
As once, beneath the fragrant shade
Of myrtles breathing heaven's own air,
The children, Love and Folly, played--
A quarrel rose betwixt the pair.
Love said the gods should do him right--
But Folly vowed to do it then,
And struck him, o'er the orbs of sight,
So hard, he never saw again.
His lovely mother's grief was deep,
She called for vengeance on the deed;
A beauty does not vainly weep,
Nor coldly does a mother plead.
A shade came o'er the eternal bliss
That fills the dwellers of the skies;
Even stony-hearted Nemesis,
And Rhadamanthus, wiped their eyes.
"Behold," she said, "this lovely boy,"
While streamed afresh her graceful tears,
"Immortal, yet shut out from joy
And sunshine, all his future years.
The child can never take, you see,
A single step without a staff--
The harshest punishment would be
Too lenient for the crime by half.
"
All said that Love had suffered wrong,
And well that wrong should be repaid;
Then weighed the public interest long,
And long the party's interest weighed.
And thus decreed the court above--
"Since Love is blind from Folly's blow,
Let Folly be the guide of Love,
Where'er the boy may choose to go.
"
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Written by
Charles Webb |
It's okay if the world goes with Venetian;
Who cares what Italians don't see?--
Or with Man's Bluff (a temporary problem
Healed by shrieks and cheating)--or with date:
Three hours of squirming repaid by laughs for years.
But when an old woman, already deaf,
Wakes from a night of headaches, and the dark
Won't disappear--when doctors call like tedious
Birds, "If only.
.
.
" up and down hospital halls--
When, long-distance, I hear her say, "Don't worry.
Honey, I'll be fine," is it a wonder
If my mind speeds down blind alleys?
If the adage "Love is blind" has never seemed
So true? If, in a flash of blinding light
I see Justice drop her scales, yank off
Her blindfold, stand revealed--a monster-god
With spidery arms and a mouth like a black hole--
While I leap, ant-sized, at her feet, blinded
By tears, raging blindly as, sense by sense,
My mother is sucked away?
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Written by
Mary Elizabeth Coleridge |
When my love did what I would not, what I would not,
I could hear his merry voice upon the wind,
Crying, "e;Fairest, shut your eyes, for see you should not.
Love is blind!"
When my love said what I say not, what I say not,
With a joyous laugh he quieted my fears,
Whispering, "Fairest, hearken not, for hear you may not.
Hath Love ears?"
When my love said, "Will you longer let me seek it?
Blind and deaf is she that doth not bid me come!"
All my heart said murmuring, "Dearest, can I speak it?
Love is dumb!
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Written by
Adela Florence Cory Nicolson |
Told by Lalla-ji, the Priest
"And when the Summer Heat is great,
And every hour intense,
The Moghra, with its subtle flowers,
Intoxicates the sense."
The Coco palms stood tall and slim, against the golden-glow,
And all their grey and graceful plumes were waving to and fro.
She lay forgetful in the boat, and watched the dying Sun
Sink slowly lakewards, while the stars replaced him, one by one.
She saw the marble Temple walls long white reflections make,
The echoes of their silvery bells were blown across the lake.
The evening air was very sweet; from off the island bowers
Came scents of Moghra trees in bloom, and Oleander flowers.
"The Moghra flowers that smell so sweet
When love's young fancies play;
The acrid Moghra flowers, still sweet
Though love be burnt away."
The boat went drifting, uncontrolled, the rower rowed no more,
But deftly turned the slender prow towards the further shore.
The dying sunset touched with gold the Jasmin in his hair;
His eyes were darkly luminous: she looked and found him fair.
And so persuasively he spoke, she could not say him nay,
And when his young hands took her own, she smiled and let them stay.
And all the youth awake in him, all love of Love in her,
All scents of white and subtle flowers that filled the twilight air
Combined together with the night in kind conspiracy
To do Love service, while the boat went drifting onwards, free.
"The Moghra flowers, the Moghra flowers,
While Youth's quick pulses play
They are so sweet, they still are sweet,
Though passion burns away."
Low in the boat the lovers lay, and from his sable curls
The Jasmin flowers slipped away to rest among the girl's.
Oh, silver lake and silver night and tender silver sky!
Where as the hours passed, the moon rose white and cold on high.
"The Moghra flowers, the Moghra flowers,
So dear to Youth at play;
The small and subtle Moghra flowers
That only last a day."
Suddenly, frightened, she awoke, and waking vaguely saw
The boat had stranded in the sedge that fringed the further shore.
The breeze grown chilly, swayed the palms; she heard, still half awake,
A prowling jackal's hungry cry blown faintly o'er the lake.
She shivered, but she turned to kiss his soft, remembered face,
Lit by the pallid light he lay, in Youth's abandoned grace.
But as her lips met his she paused, in terror and dismay,
The white moon showed her by her side asleep a Leper lay.
"Ah, Moghra flowers, white Moghra flowers,
All love is blind, they say;
The Moghra flowers, so sweet, so sweet,
Though love be burnt away!"
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