Delphi Poetry Anthology: The World's Greatest Poems (Delphi Poets Series Book 50)

by Homer

  Her paps lyke lyllies budded,

  Her snowie neck lyke to a marble towre;

  And all her body like a pallace fayre,

  Ascending up, with many a stately stayre,

  To honours seat and chastities sweet bowre. 180

  Why stand ye still ye virgins in amaze,

  Upon her so to gaze,

  Whiles ye forget your former lay to sing,

  To which the woods did answer, and your eccho ring?

  But if ye was that which no eyes can see, 185

  The inward beauty of her lively spright,

  Garnisht with heavenly guifts of high degree,

  Much more then would ye wonder at that sight,

  And stand astonisht lyke to those which red

  Medusaes mazeful hed. 190

  There dwels sweet love, and constant chastity,

  Unspotted fayth, and comely womanhood,

  Regard of honour, and mild modesty;

  There vertue raynes as Queene in royal throne,

  And giveth lawes alone, 195

  The which the base affections doe obay,

  And yeeld theyr services unto her will;

  Ne thought of thing uncomely ever may

  Thereto approch to tempt her mind to ill.

  Had ye once seene these her celestial threasures, 200

  And unrevealèd pleasures,

  Then would ye wonder, and her prayses sing,

  That al the woods should answer, and your eccho ring.

  Open the temple gates unto my love,

  Open them wide that she may enter in, 205

  And all the postes adorne as doth behove,

  And all the pillours deck with girlands trim,

  For to receyve this Saynt with honour dew,

  That commeth in to you.

  With trembling steps, and humble reverence, 210

  She commeth in, before th’ Almighties view;

  Of her ye virgins learne obedience,

  When so ye come into those holy places,

  To humble your proud faces:

  Bring her up to th’ high altar, that she may 215

  The sacred ceremonies there partake,

  The which do endlesse matrimony make;

  And let the roring Organs loudly play

  The praises of the Lord in lively notes;

  The whiles, with hollow throates, 220

  The Choristers the joyous Antheme sing,

  That al the woods may answere, and their eccho ring.

  Behold, whiles she before the altar stands,

  Hearing the holy priest that to her speakes,

  And blesseth her with his two happy hands, 225

  How the red roses flush up in her cheekes,

  And the pure snow, with goodly vermill stayne

  Like crimsin dyde in grayne:

  That even th’ Angels, which continually

  About the sacred Altare doe remaine, 230

  Forget their service and about her fly,

  Ofte peeping in her face, that seems more fayre,

  The more they on it stare.

  But her sad eyes, still fastened on the ground,

  Are governèd with goodly modesty, 235

  That suffers not one looke to glaunce awry,

  Which may let in one little thought unsownd.

  Why blush ye, love, to give to me your hand,

  The pledge of all our band!

  Sing, ye sweet Angels, Alleluya sing, 240

  That all the woods may answere, and your eccho ring.

  Now al is done: bring home the bride againe;

  Bring home the triumph of our victory:

  Bring home with you the glory of her gaine

  With joyance bring her and with jollity. 245

  Never had man more joyfull day then this,

  Whom heaven would heape with blis,

  Make feast therefore now all this live-long day;

  This day for ever to me holy is.

  Poure out the wine without restraint or stay, 250

  Poure not by cups, but by the belly full,

  Poure out to all that wull,

  And sprinkle all the postes and wals with wine,

  That they may sweat, and drunken be withall.

  Crowne ye God Bacchus with a coronall, 255

  And Hymen also crowne with wreathes of vine;

  And let the Graces daunce unto the rest,

  For they can doo it best:

  The whiles the maydens doe theyr carroll sing,

  To which the woods shall answer, and theyr eccho ring. 260

  Ring ye the bels, ye yong men of the towne,

  And leave your wonted labors for this day:

  This day is holy; doe ye write it downe,

  That ye for ever it remember may.

  This day the sunne is in his chiefest hight, 265

  With Barnaby the bright,

  From whence declining daily by degrees,

  He somewhat loseth of his heat and light,

  When once the Crab behind his back he sees.

  But for this time it ill ordainèd was, 270

  To chose the longest day in all the yeare,

  The shortest night, when longest fitter weare:

  Yet never day so long, but late would passe.

  Ring ye the bels, to make it weare away,

  And bonefiers make all day; 275

  And daunce about them, and about them sing,

  That all the woods may answer, and your eccho ring.

  Ah! when will this long weary day have end,

  And lende me leave to come unto my love?

  How slowly do the houres theyr numbers spend? 280

  How slowly does sad Time his feathers move?

  Hast thee, O fayrest Planet, to thy home,

  Within the Westerne fome:

  Thy tyrèd steedes long since have need of rest.

  Long though it be, at last I see it gloome, 285

  And the bright evening-star with golden creast

  Appeare out of the East.

  Fayre childe of beauty! glorious lampe of love!

  That all the host of heaven in rankes doost lead,

  And guydest lovers through the nights sad dread, 290

  How chearefully thou lookest from above,

  And seemst to laugh atweene thy twinkling light,

  As joying in the sight

  Of these glad many, which for joy doe sing,

  That all the woods them answer, and their eccho ring. 295

  Now ceasse, ye damsels, your delights fore-past;

  Enough it is that all the day was youres:

  Now day is doen, and night is nighing fast,

  Now bring the Bryde into the brydall boures.

  The night is come, now soon her disaray, 300

  And in her bed her lay;

  Lay her in lillies and in violets,

  And silken courteins over her display,

  And odourd sheetes, and Arras coverlets,

  Behold how goodly my faire love does ly, 305

  In proud humility!

  Like unto Maia, when as Jove her took

  In Tempe, lying on the flowry gras,

  Twixt sleepe and wake, after she weary was,

  With bathing in the Acidalian brooke. 310

  Now it is night, ye damsels may be gon,

  And leave my love alone,

  And leave likewise your former lay to sing:

  The woods no more shall answere, nor your eccho ring.

  Now welcome, night! thou night so long expected, 315

  That long daies labour doest at last defray,

  And all my cares, which cruell Love collected,

  Hast sumd in one, and cancellèd for aye:

  Spread thy broad wing over my love and me,

  That no man may us see; 320

  And in thy sable mantle us enwrap,

  From feare of perrill and foule horror free.

  Let no false treason seeke us to entrap,

  Nor any dread disquiet once annoy
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  The safety of our joy; 325

  But let the night be calme, and quietsome,

  Without tempestuous storms or sad afray:

  Lyke as when Jove with fayre Alcmena lay,

  When he begot the great Tirynthian groome:

  Or lyke as when he with thy selfe did lie 330

  And begot Majesty.

  And let the mayds and yong men cease to sing;

  Ne let the woods them answer nor theyr eccho ring.

  Let no lamenting cryes, nor dolefull teares

  Be heard all night within, nor yet without: 335

  Ne let false whispers, breeding hidden feares,

  Breake gentle sleepe with misconceivèd dout.

  Let no deluding dreames, nor dreadfull sights,

  Make sudden sad affrights;

  Ne let house-fyres, nor lightnings helpelesse harmes, 340

  Ne let the Pouke, nor other evill sprights,

  Ne let mischivous witches with theyr charmes,

  Ne let hob Goblins, names whose sence we see not,

  Fray us with things that be not;

  Let not the shriech Oule nor the Storke be heard, 345

  Nor the night Raven, that still deadly yels:

  Nor dammèd ghosts, cald up with mighty spels,

  Nor griesly vultures, make us once affeard:

  Ne let th’ unpleasant Quyre of Frogs still croking

  Make us to wish theyr choking. 350

  Let none of these theyr drery accents sing;

  Ne let the woods them answer, nor theyr eccho ring.

  But still let Silence trew night-watches keepe,

  That sacred Peace may in assurance rayne,

  And tymely Sleep, when it is tyme to sleepe, 355

  May poure his limbs forth on your pleasant playne;

  The whiles an hundred little wingèd loves,

  Like divers-fethered doves,

  Shall fly and flutter round about your bed,

  And in the secret darke, that none reproves, 360

  Their prety stealthes shal worke, and snares shal spread

  To filch away sweet snatches of delight,

  Conceald through covert night.

  Ye sonnes of Venus, play your sports at will!

  For greedy pleasure, carelesse of your toyes, 365

  Thinks more upon her paradise of joyes,

  Then what ye do, albe it good or ill.

  All night therefore attend your merry play,

  For it will soone be day:

  Now none doth hinder you, that say or sing; 370

  Ne will the woods now answer, nor your Eccho ring.

  Who is the same, which at my window peepes?

  Or whose is that faire face that shines so bright?

  Is it not Cinthia, she that never sleepes,

  But walkes about high heaven al the night? 375

  O! fayrest goddesse, do thou not envy

  My love with me to spy:

  For thou likewise didst love, though now unthought

  And for a fleece of wooll, which privily

  The Latmian shepherd once unto thee brought, 380

  His pleasures with thee wrought.

  Therefore to us be favourable now;

  And sith of wemens labours thou hast charge,

  And generation goodly dost enlarge,

  Encline thy will t’effect our wishfull vow, 385

  And the chaste wombe informe with timely seed,

  That may our comfort breed:

  Till which we cease our hopefull hap to sing;

  Ne let the woods us answere, nor our Eccho ring.

  And thou, great Juno! which with awful might 390

  The lawes of wedlock still dost patronize;

  And the religion of the faith first plight

  With sacred rites hast taught to solemnize;

  And eeke for comfort often callèd art

  Of women in their smart; 395

  Eternally bind thou this lovely band,

  And all thy blessings unto us impart.

  And thou, glad Genius! in whose gentle hand

  The bridale bowre and geniall bed remaine,

  Without blemish or staine; 400

  And the sweet pleasures of theyr loves delight

  With secret ayde doest succor and supply,

  Till they bring forth the fruitfull progeny;

  Send us the timely fruit of this same night.

  And thou, fayre Hebe! and thou, Hymen free! 405

  Grant that it may so be.

  Till which we cease your further prayse to sing;

  Ne any woods shall answer, nor your Eccho ring.

  And ye high heavens, the temple of the gods,

  In which a thousand torches flaming bright 410

  Doe burne, that to us wretched earthly clods

  In dreadful darknesse lend desirèd light;

  And all ye powers which in the same remayne,

  More then we men can fayne!

  Poure out your blessing on us plentiously, 415

  And happy influence upon us raine,

  That we may raise a large posterity,

  Which from the earth, which they may long possesse

  With lasting happinesse,

  Up to your haughty pallaces may mount; 420

  And for the guerdon of theyr glorious merit,

  May heavenly tabernacles there inherit,

  Of blessèd Saints for to increase the count.

  So let us rest, sweet love, in hope of this,

  And cease till then our tymely joyes to sing: 425

  The woods no more us answer, nor our eccho ring!

  Song! made in lieu of many ornaments,

  With which my love should duly have been dect,

  Which cutting off through hasty accidents,

  Ye would not stay your dew time to expect, 430

  But promist both to recompens;

  Be unto her a goodly ornament,

  And for short time an endlesse moniment.

  List of Poems in Alphabetical Order

  List of Poets in Alphabetical Order

  A Ditty

  In praise of Eliza, Queen of the Shepherds

  Edmund Spenser (1552–1599)

  SEE where she sits upon the grassie greene,

  (O seemely sight!)

  Yclad in Scarlot, like a mayden Queene,

  And ermines white:

  Upon her head a Cremosin coronet 5

  With Damaske roses and Daffadillies set:

  Bay leaves betweene,

  And primroses greene,

  Embellish the sweete Violet.

  Tell me, have ye seene her angelick face 10

  Like Phœbe fayre?

  Her heavenly haveour, her princely grace,

  Can you well compare?

  The Redde rose medled with the White yfere,

  In either cheeke depeincten lively chere: 15

  Her modest eye,

  Her Majestie,

  Where have you seene the like but there?

  I see Calliope speede her to the place,

  Where my Goddesse shines; 20

  And after her the other Muses trace

  With their Violines.

  Bene they not Bay braunches which they do beare,

  All for Elisa in her hand to weare?

  So sweetely they play, 25

  And sing all the way,

  That it a heaven is to heare.

  Lo, how finely the Graces can it foote

  To the Instrument:

  They dauncen deffly, and singen soote, 30

  In their meriment.

  Wants not a fourth Grace to make the daunce even?

  Let that rowme to my Lady be yeven.

  She shal be a Grace,

  To fyll the fourth place, 35

  And reigne with the rest in heaven.

  Bring hether the Pincke and purple Cullambine,

  With Gelliflowres;

  Bring Coronations, and Sops-in-wine

  Worne of Paramoures: 40

  Stro
we me the ground with Daffadowndillies,

  And Cowslips, and Kingcups, and lovèd Lillies:

  The pretie Pawnce,

  And the Chevisaunce,

  Shall match with the fayre flowre Delice. 45

  Now ryse up, Elisa, deckèd as thou art

  In royall aray;

  And now ye daintie Damsells may depart

  Eche one her way.

  I feare I have troubled your troupes to longe: 50

  Let dame Elisa thanke you for her song:

  And if you come hether

  When Damsines I gether,

  I will part them all you among.

  List of Poems in Alphabetical Order

  List of Poets in Alphabetical Order

  Perigot and Willie’s Roundelay

  Edmund Spenser (1552–1599)

  IT fell upon a holly eve,

  Hey ho, hollidaye!

  When holly fathers wont to shrieve,

  Now gynneth this roundelay.

  Sitting upon a hill so hye, 5

  Hey ho, the high hyll!

  The while my flocke did feede thereby,

  The while the shepheard selfe did spill:

  I saw the bounching Bellibone,

  Hey ho, Bonibell! 10

  Tripping over the dale alone:

  She can trippe it very well;

  Well decked in a frocke of gray,

  Hey ho, gray is greete!

  And in a kirtle of greene, saye, 15

  The greene is for maydens meete.

  A chapelet on her head she wore,

  Hey ho, chapelet!

  Of sweete violets therein was store,

  — She sweeter then the violet. 20

  My sheepe did leave theyr wonted foode,

  Hey ho, seely sheepe!

  And gazd on her, as they were wood,

  — Woode as he, that did them keepe.

  As the bonnilasse passed bye, 25

  Hey ho, bonilasse!

  She rovde at me with glauncing eye,

  As cleare as the christall glasse:

  All as the sunnye beame so bright,

  Hey ho, the sunne beame! 30

  Glaunceth from Phœbus face forthright,

  So love into my hart did streame:

  Or as the thonder cleaves the cloudes,

  Hey ho, the thonder!

  Wherein the lightsome levin shroudes, 35

  So cleaves thy soule asonder:

  Or as Dame Cynthias silver raye

  Hey ho, the moonelight!