George Chapman. 1560-1634
107. Bridal Song
1 min to read 80 words
O COME, soft rest of cares! come, Night! Come, naked Virtue's only tire, The reaped harvest of the light Bound up in sheaves of sacred fire. Love calls to war: Sighs his alarms, Lips his swords are, The field his arms.
Come, Night, and lay thy velvet hand On glorious Day's outfacing face; And all thy crowned flames command For torches to our nuptial grace. Love calls to war: Sighs his alarms, Lips his swords are, The field his arms.
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Robert Southwell. 1561-95
108. Times go by Turns
1 min to read 206 words
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