Samuel Daniel

At the Author's Going into ItalyO whether (poor forsaken) wilt thou go,
To go from sorrow and thine own distress,
When every place presents the face of woe,
And no remove can make thy sorrow less

Unhappy pen and ill-accepted papers,
That intimate in vain my chaste desires,
My chaste desires, the ever-burning tapers Enkindled by her eyes' celestial fires
Celestial fires and unrespecting powers,

These plaintive verses, the Posts of my desire,
Which haste for succour to her slow regard:
Bear not report of any slender fire,
Forging a grief to win a fame's reward

I must not grieve my Love, whose eyes would read Lines of delight, whereon her youth might smile;
Flowers have a time before they come to seed,
And she is young and now must sport the while
Ah, sport, sweet Maid, in season of these ...

Let others sing of Knights and Paladins In aged accents and untimely words,
Paint shadows in imaginary lines Which well the reach of their high wits records;
But I must sing of thee and those fair eyes;
Authentic shall my verse in t...

If so it hap this offspring of my care,
These fatal Anthems, sad and mournful Songs,
Come to their view, who like afflicted are;
Let them yet sigh their own, and moan my wrongs

Drawn by th'attractive virtue of her eyes,
My touch'd heart turns it to that happy coast;
My joyful North, where all my fortune lies,
The level of my hopes desired most

Unto the boundless Ocean of thy beauty Runs this poor river, charg'd with streams of zeal:
Returning thee the tribute of my duty,
Which here my love, my youth, my plaints reveal
Here I unclasp the book of my charg'd soul,

If this be love, to draw a weary breath,
Paint on floods, till the shore, cry to th'air,
With downward looks still reading on the earth,
The sad memorials of my love's despair

Love is a sickness full of woes, All remedies refusing; A plant that with most cutting grows, Most barren with best using
Why so
More we enjoy it, more it dies; If not enjoy'd, it sighing cries— Heigh ho
Love is a torment of the min...

Go, wailing verse, the infants of my love,
Minerva-like, brought forth without a Mother:
Present the image of the cares I prove;
Witness your Father's grief exceeds all other

Beauty, sweet love, is like the morning dew Whose short refresh upon the tender green Cheers for a time but till the Sun doth show,
And straight 'tis gone as it had never been
Soon doth it fade that makes the fairest flourish;
Short...