William Shakespeare Short Poems
Over hill, over dale,
Thorough
bush, thorough brier,
Over
park, over pale,
Thorough
flood, thorough fire!
I
do wander everywhere,
Swifter
than the moon's sphere;
And
I serve the Fairy Queen,
To
dew her orbs upon the green;
The
cowslips tall her pensioners be;
In
their gold coats spots you see;
Those
be rubies, fairy favours;
In
those freckles live their savours;
I
must go seek some dewdrops here,
And
hang a pearl in every cowslip's ear.
O
mistress mine, where are you roaming?
O
stay and hear! your true-love's coming
That
can sing both high and low;
Trip
no further, pretty sweeting,
Journey's
end in lovers' meeting--
Every
wise man's son doth know.
What
is love? 'tis not hereafter;
Present
mirth hath present laughter;
What's
to come is still unsure:
In
delay there lies no plenty,--
Then
come kiss me, Sweet and twenty,
Youth's
a stuff will not endure.
Under
the greenwood tree
Who
loves to lie with me,
And
turn his merry note
Unto
the sweet bird's throat,
Come
hither, come hither, come hither:
Here
shall he see
No
enemy
But
winter and rough weather.
Who
doth ambition shun,
And
loves to live i' the sun,
Seeking
the food he eats,
And
pleas'd with what he gets,
Come
hither, come hither, come hither:
Here
shall he see
No
enemy
But
winter and rough weather.
Hark!
hark! the lark at heaven's gate sings,
And
Phoebus 'gins arise,
His
steeds to water at those springs
On
chalic'd flowers that lies;
And
winking Mary-buds begin
To
ope their golden eyes;
With
everything that pretty is,
My
lady sweet, arise:
Arise,
arise!
HARK! hark! the lark at heaven's gate sings,
And Phoebus 'gins arise,
His
steeds to water at those springs
On chaliced flowers that lies;
And
winking Mary-buds begin
To ope their golden eyes:
With
everything that pretty bin,
My lady sweet, arise!
Arise, arise!
URNS
and odours bring away!
Vapours, sighs, darken the day!
Our
dole more deadly looks than dying;
Balms and gums and heavy cheers,
Sacred vials fill'd with tears,
And
clamours through the wild air flying!
Come, all sad and solemn shows,
That are quick-eyed Pleasure's foes!
We convent naught else but woes.
b
WHO is Silvia? What is she?
That all our swains commend her?
Holy,
fair, and wise is she;
The heaven such grace did lend her,
That
she might admired be.
Is
she kind as she is fair?
For beauty lives with kindness:
Love
doth to her eyes repair,
To help him of his blindness;
And,
being help'd, inhabits there.
Then
to Silvia let us sing,
That Silvia is excelling;
She
excels each mortal thing
Upon the dull earth dwelling:
To
her let us garlands bring.
WHERE the bee sucks, there suck I:
In
a cowslip's bell I lie;
There
I couch when owls do cry.
On
the bat's back I do fly
After
summer merrily:
Merrily, merrily, shall I live now,
Under the blossom that hangs on the bough.
In
faith, I do not love thee with mine eyes,
For
they in thee a thousand errors note;
But
'tis my heart that loves what they despise,
Who
in despite of view is pleased to dote;
Orpheus with his lute made trees,
And
the mountain tops that freeze,
Bow
themselves, when he did sing:
To
his music plants and flowers
Ever
sprung; as sun and showers
There
had made a lasting spring.
Everything
that heard him play,
Even
the billows of the sea,
Hung
their heads, and then lay by.
In
sweet music is such art,
Killing
care and grief of heart
Fall
asleep, or hearing, die.
FULL
fathom five thy father lies;
Of
his bones are coral made;
Those
are pearls that were his eyes:
Nothing of him that doth fade,
But
doth suffer a sea-change
Into
something rich and strange.
Sea-nymphs
hourly ring his knell:
Ding-dong.
Hark! now I hear them--
Ding-dong, bell!
COME unto these yellow sands,
And then take hands:
Court'sied
when you have, and kiss'd,--
The wild waves whist,--
Foot
it featly here and there;
And,
sweet sprites, the burthen bear.
Hark, hark!
Bow, wow,
The watch-dogs bark:
Bow, wow.
Hark, hark! I hear
The strain of strutting chanticleer
Cry, Cock-a-diddle-dow!
TAKE,
O take those lips away,
That so sweetly were forsworn;
And
those eyes, the break of day,
Lights that do mislead the morn!
But
my kisses bring again,
Bring again;
Seals
of love, but seal'd in vain,
Seal'd in vain!
O
MISTRESS mine, where are you roaming?
O,
stay and hear! your true love 's coming,
That can sing both high and low:
Trip
no further, pretty sweeting;
Journeys
end in lovers meeting,
Every wise man's son doth know.
What
is love? 'tis not hereafter;
Present
mirth hath present laughter;
What 's to come is still unsure:
In
delay there lies no plenty;
Then
come kiss me, sweet-and-twenty!
Youth’s a stuff will not endure.
With
affection,
Ruben
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