Author: KEN M (---.ns.aliant.net)
Date: 04-18-04 21:03
The former post was off topic and was removed as it was a violation of our
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discussions along the following
O! that you were your self; but, love you are
No longer yours, than you your self here live:
Against this coming end you should prepare,
And your sweet semblance to some other give:
So should that beauty which you hold in lease
Find no determination; then you were
Yourself again, after yourself\'s decease,
When your sweet issue your sweet form should bear.
Who lets so fair a house fall to decay,
Which husbandry in honour might uphold,
Against the stormy gusts of winter\'s day
And barren rage of death\'s eternal cold?
O! none but unthrifts. Dear my love, you know,
You had a father: let your son say so.
Who will believe my verse in time to come,
If it were fill\'d with your most high deserts?
Though yet heaven knows it is but as a tomb
Which hides your life, and shows not half your parts.
If I could write the beauty of your eyes,
And in fresh numbers number all your graces,
The age to come would say \'This poet lies;
Such heavenly touches ne\'er touch\'d earthly faces.\'
So should my papers, yellow\'d with their age,
Be scorn\'d, like old men of less truth than tongue,
And your true rights be term\'d a poet\'s rage
And stretched metre of an antique song:
But were some child of yours alive that time,
You should live twice,--in it, and in my rhyme.
I\'ve never been able to understand why a Republican contributor is a \'fat
cat\' and a Democratic contributor of the same amount of money is a
Since brass, nor stone, nor earth, nor boundless sea,
But sad mortality o\'ersways their power,
How with this rage shall beauty hold a plea,
Whose action is no stronger than a flower?
O! how shall summer\'s honey breath hold out,
Against the wrackful siege of battering days,
When rocks impregnable are not so stout,
Nor gates of steel so strong but Time decays?
O fearful meditation! where, alack,
Shall Time\'s best jewel from Time\'s chest lie hid?
Or what strong hand can hold his swift foot back?
Or who his spoil of beauty can forbid?
O! none, unless this miracle have might,
That in black ink my love may still shine bright.