Aug. 23rd, 2009 at 1:36 PM
Enjoy,
Cat
The Passionate Shepherd to His Loveby Christopher Marlowe (see below for Ralegh's reply)
|
| Come live with me and be my love, |
| And we will all the pleasures prove, |
| That hills and valleys, dales and fields, |
| And all the craggy mountains yields. |
| There we will sit upon the rocks, |
| And see the shepherds feed their flocks, |
| By shallow rivers to whose falls |
| Melodious birds sing madrigals. |
| And I will make thee beds of roses |
| With a thousand fragrant posies, |
| A cap of flowers, and a kirtle |
| Embroidered all with leaves of myrtle; |
| A gown made of the finest wool |
| Which from our pretty lambs we pull; |
| Fair linèd slippers for the cold, |
| With buckles of the purest gold; |
| A belt of straw and ivy buds, |
| With coral clasps and amber studs: |
| And if these pleasures may thee move, |
| Come live with me and be my love. |
| The shepherds' swains shall dance and sing |
| For thy delight each May morning: |
| If these delights thy mind may move, |
| Then live with me and be my love. Christopher Marlowe
|
The Nymph's Reply to the Shepherd
|
| If all the world and love were young, |
| And truth in every shepherd's tongue, |
| These pretty pleasures might me move |
| To live with thee and be thy love. |
| Time drives the flocks from field to fold, |
| When rivers rage and rocks grow cold, |
| And Philomel becometh dumb; |
| The rest complains of cares to come. |
| The flowers do fade, and wanton fields |
| To wayward winter reckoning yields; |
| A honey tongue, a heart of gall, |
| Is fancy's spring, but sorrow's fall. |
| Thy gowns, thy shoes, thy beds of roses, |
| Thy cap, thy kirtle, and thy posies |
| Soon break, soon wither, soon forgotten, |
| In folly ripe, in reason rotten. |
| Thy belt of straw and ivy buds, |
| Thy coral clasps and amber studs, |
| All these in me no means can move |
| To come to thee and be thy love. |
| But could youth last and love still breed, |
| Had joys no date nor age no need, |
| Then these delights my mind might move |
| To live with thee and be thy love. |
| Sir Walter Ralegh | Classic Poems |

Comments