HIS POETRY HIS PILLAR Only a little more I have to write: Then I’ll give o’er, And bid the world good-night. ‘Tis but a flying minute, That I must stay, Or linger in it: And then I must away. O Time, that cut’st down all, And scarce leav’st here Memorial Of any men that were;poe […]
1600s
THE WORLD by Lord Francis Bacon
THE WORLD by Lord Francis Bacon of Verulam The World’s a bubble, and the Life of Man Less than a span: In his conception wretched, from the womb, So to the tomb; Curst from his cradle, and brought up to years With cares and fears. Who then to frail mortality shall trust, But limns on […]
Upon A Spider Catching A Fly by Edward Taylor
Upon A Spider Catching A Fly by Edward Taylor (1642-1729) Thou sorrow, venom Elfe: Is this thy play, To spin a web out of thyselfe To Catch a Fly? For Why? I saw a pettish wasp Fall foule therein: Whom yet thy Whorle pins did not clasp Lest he should fling His sting. But as […]
On a Girdle by EDMUND WALLER
Edmund Waller (1606-1687)
My mistress’ eyes are nothing like the sun by William Shakespeare
William Shakespeare (1564-1616)
The Progress of Poetry by Jonathan Swift
Jonathan Swift (1667-1745)
ON TIME by John Milton
John Milton (1608-1674) Fly envious Time, till thou run out thy race, Call on the lazy leaden-stepping hours, Whose speed is but the heavy Plummets pace; And glut thy self with what thy womb devours, Which is no more then what is false and vain, And meerly mortal dross; So little is our loss, So […]
Hidden Flame by John Dryden
John Dryden (1631-1700) Hidden Flame by John Dryden Feed a flame within, which so torments me That it both pains my heart, and yet contains me: ‘Tis such a pleasing smart, and I so love it, That I had rather die than once remove it. Yet he, for whom I grieve, shall never know it; […]
To Lucasta, Going to the Warres by Richard Lovelace
Richard Lovelace (1618-1657)
Upon the Burning of Our House, July 10th, 1666 by Anne Bradstreet
Anne Bradstreet (1612-1672)
On His Blindness by John Milton
John Milton (1608-1674)
The Coronet–Andrew Marvell
When for the thorns with which I long, too long, With many a piercing wound, My Saviour’s head have crowned, I seek with garlands to redress that wrong,? Through every garden, every mead, I gather flowers (my fruits are only flowers), Dismantling all the fragrant towers That once adorned my shepherdess’s head : And now, […]