Love in Fantastic Triumph

This is the archive for Jewelry Poetry on the Beadshaper web site. To see the Beadshaper site, please click Beadshaper . The Poetry Piece for the month of January is named for a poem by Aphra Behn.

A Song by Aphra Behn (1640-1689)

Love in fantastic triumph sate
Whilst bleeding hearts around him flowed,
For whom fresh pains he did create
And strange tyrranic power he showed:

From thy bright eye he took his fires,
Which round about in sport he hurled;
But 'twas from mine he took desires
Enough to undo the amorous world.

From me he took his sighs and tears,
From thee his pride and cruelty;
From me his languishment and fears,
And every killing dart from thee.
Thus thou and I the god have armed
And set him up a deity;
But my poor heart alone is harmed,
Whilst thine the victor is, and free!

The Lady Sings

This is the archive for Jewelry Poetry on the Beadshaper web site. To see the Beadshaper site, please click Beadshaper .

The following poem is the one for the month of December, 2007





The Lady Sings
by John Milton
1608-1674

Sweet Echo, sweetest nymph, that liv'st unseen
Within thy airy shell
By slow Meander's margent green,
And in the violet-embroidered vale
Where the lovelorn nightingale
Nightly to thee her sad song mourneth well:
Canst thou not tell me of a gentle pair
That likest thy Narcissus are?
O if thou have
Hid them in some flowery cave,
Tell me but where,
Sweet queen of parley, daughter of the sphere;
So mayst thou be translated to the skies,
And give resounding grace to all heaven's harmonies.

A Wish

This is the archive for the Jewelry Poetry Page of the Beadshaper web site. To see the Beadshaper site, please click Beadshaper .
The following poem is the one for the month of November, 2007


A Wish

by Samuel Rogers (1763-1855)

Mine be a cot beside the hill;
A bee-hive's hum shall soothe my ear;
A willowy brook, that turns a mill,
With many a fall shall linger near.

The swallow oft beneath my thatch
Shall twitter from her clay-built nest;
Oft shall the pilgrim lift the latch
And share my meal, a welcome guest.

Around my ivied porch shall spring
Each fragrant flower that drinks the dew;
And Lucy at her wheel shall sing
In russet gown and apron blue.

The village church among the trees,
Where first our marriage vows were given,
With merry peals shall swell the breeze
And point with taper spire to Heaven.

Eternity

This is the archive for the Jewelry Poetry Page of the Beadshaper web site. To see the Beadshaper site, please click Beadshaper .

The following poem is the one for the month of October, 2007

Eternity

by William Blake 1757-1827

.

He who bends to himself a joy

Does the winged life destroy;

But he who kisses the joy as it flies

Lives in eternity's sunrise.

Walsingham

This is the archive for the Jewelry Poetry Page of the Beadshaper web site. Every month a piece of jewelry on the Beadshaper site is named after a classic poem. To see the Beadshaper site, please click Beadshaper . The following poem is the one for the month of September, 2007

.

.

Walsingham
by Sir Walter Raleigh

'As you came from the holy land
Of Walsingham,
Met you not with my true love
By the way as you came?'

'How shall I know your true love,
That have met many one
As I went to the holy land,
That have come, that have gone?'

'She is neither white nor brown,
But as the heavens fair,
There is none hath a form so divine
In the earth or the air.'

'Such an one did I meet, good Sir,
Such an angelic face,
Who like a queen, like a nymph did appear
By her gait, by her grace.'

'She hath left me here all alone,
All alone as unknow,
Who sometimes did me lead with herself,
And loved me as her own.'

'What's the the cause that she leaves you alone
And a new way doth take,
Who loved you once as her own
And her joy did you make?'

'I have loved her all my youth,
But now old as you see,
Love like not the falling fruit
From the withered tree.

'Know that Love is a careless child,
And forgets promise past;
He is blind, he is deaf when he list
And in faith never fast.

'His desire is a dureless content
And a trustless joy;
He is won with a world of despair
And is lost with a toy.

'Of womenkind such indeed is the love
Or the world have abused,
Under which many childish desires
And conceits are excused.

'But true love is a durable fire
In the mind ever burning;
Never sick, never old, never dead,
From itself never turning.'

Love Still Has Something of the Sea

This is the archive for the Jewelry Poetry Page of the Beadshaper web site. Every month a piece of jewelry on the Beadshaper site is named after a classic poem. To see the Beadshaper site, please click Beadshaper . The following poem is the one for the month of August, 2007.

..

Love Still Has Something of the Sea
by Sir Charles Sedley (1639-1701)

Love still has something of the sea,
From whence his mother rose;
No time his slaves from Doubt can free,
Nor give their thoughts repose;

They are becalmed in clearest days,
And in rough whether tost;
They wither under cold delays,
Or are in tempests lost.

One while they seem to touch the port,
Then straighten into the main,
Some angry wind in cruel sport
The vessel drives again.

At first Disdain and Pride they fear,
Which if they chance to 'scape,
Rivals and Falsehood soon appear
In a more dreadful shape.

By such degees to Joy they come,
And are so long withstood,
So slowly they receive the sum,
It hardly does them good.

'Tis cruel to prolong a pain,
And to defer a joy,
Believe me, gentle Celemene,
Offends the winged Boy.

An hundred thousand oaths your fears
Perhaps would not remove;
And if I gazed a thousand years
I could no deeper love.

The Nymph's Reply to the Shepherd

h

This is the archive for the Jewelry Poetry Page of the Beadshaper web site. Every month a piece of jewelry on the Beadshaper site is named after a classic poem. To see the Beadshaper site, please click http://www.beadshaper.com/ . The following poem is the one for the month of July 2007.

The Nymph’s Reply to the Sheperd
By Sir Walter Raleigh (1552-1618)

If all the world and love were young,
And truth in every sheperd’s tongue,
These pretty pleasures might me move
To live with thee and be thy love.

Time drives the flocks from field to fold,
When rivers rage and rocks grow cold,
And Philomel becometh dumb;
The rest complains of cares to come.

The flowers do fade, and wanton fields
To wayward winter reckoning yields;
A honey tongue, a heart of gall,
Is fancy's spring, but sorrows fall.

Thy gowns, thy shoes, thy bed of roses,
Thy cap, thy kirtle, and thy posies
Soon break, soon wither, soon forgotten,
In folly ripe, in reason rotten.

Thy belt of straw and ivy buds,
Thy coral clasps and amber studs,
All these in me no means can move
To come to thee and be thy love.

But could youth last and love still breed,
Had joys no date nor age no need,
Then these delights my mind might move
To live with thee and be thy love.