Written with a diamond on Her window at Woodstock.

Much suspected by me,
Nothing proved can be,
Quoth Elizabeth prisoner.
by Princess Elisabeth (Elizabeth I)

And let the Muses You companions be...

To the Ladie Katherine Count-tesse of Suffolke.

Although great Lady. it may seeme right strange
That I a stranger should presume thus farre,
To write to you: yet as the times doe change,
So are we subiect to that Fatall starre,

Vnder the which we were produc'd to breath; (5)

That starre that guides vs euen vntill our death.

And guided me to frame this worke of grace
Nor of it selfe, but by celestiall powres,
To which, both that and wee must needs giue place,
Since what we haue we cannot count it ours: (10)

For health, wealth, honour, sickenesse, death & all,

Is in Gods powre, which makes vs rise and fall.

And since his powre hath giuen me powre to write,
A subiect fit for you to looke vpon,
Wherein your soule may take no small delight, (15)
When her bright eyes beholds that holy one:

By whose great wisedome, loue, and speciall grace,

Shee was created to behold his face.

Vouchsafe sweet Lady, to accept these lines,
Writ by a hand that doth desire to doe (20)
All seruices to you whose worth combines
The worthi'st minds to loue and honour you:

Whose beautie, wisedome, children, high estate,

Doe all concur to make you fortunate.

e 2

But chiefly your most honorble Lord, (25)
Whose noble virtues Fame can ne'r forget:
His hand being alwayes ready to afford
Help to the weak, to the unfortunate:

All which begets more honour and respect,

Than Croessus wealth, or Caesars sterne aspect. (30)

And rightly showeth that hee is descended
Of honourable Howards antient house,
Whose noble deedes by former times commended,
Do now remaine in your most loyall Spouse,

On whom God powres all blessings from aboue, (35)

Wealth, honour, children and a worthy Love;

Which is more deare to him than all the rest,
You being the liuing Hinde and pleasant Roe,
Wife of his youth, in whom his soule is blest,
Fountaine from whence his chiefe delights do flow. (40)

Faire tree from which the fruit of Honor springs,

Heere I present to you the King of kings:

Desiring you to take a perfit view,
Of those great torments Patience did indure;
And reape those Comforts that belongs to you, (45)
Which his most painfull death did then assure:

Writing the Couenant with his pretious blood,

That your faire soule might bathe her in that flood.

And let your noble daughters likewise reade
This little Books that I present to you; (50)
On heavenly food let them vouchsafe to feede;
Heere they may see a Lover much more true

Than euer was since first the world began,

This poore rich King that di'd both God and man.

[e 2 verso]

Yea, let those Ladies which do represent (55)
All beauty, wisedome, zeale, and loue,
Receiue this jewell from Iehoua sent,
This spotlesse Lambe, this perfit patient Doue:

Of whom faire Gabriel, Gods bright Mercury,

Brought downe a message from the Deitie. (60)

Here may they see him in a flood of teares,
Crowned with thornes, and bathing in his blood;
Here may they see his feares exceed all feares,
When Heauen in Iustice flat against him stood:

And loathsome death with grim and gastly look (65)

Presented him that blacke infernall booke,

Wherein the sinnes of all the world were writ,
In deepe Characters of due punishment;
And naught but dying breath could cancel it:
Shame, death, and hell must make the attonement: (70)

Shewing their euidence, seizing wrongful Right,

Placing heau'ns Beauty in deaths darkest night.

Yet through the sable Clowdes of Shame & Death,
His beauty showes more clearer than before;
Death lost his strength when he did loose his breath: (75)
As fire supprest doth shine and flame the more,

So in Deaths ashie pale discoloured face,

Fresh beauty shin'd, yeelding farre greater grace.

No Doue, no Swan, nor Iu'rie could compare
With this faire corps, when 'twas by death imbrac'd; (80)
No rose, nor no vermillion halfe so faire
As was that pretious blood that interlac'd

His body, which bright Angels did attend,

Waiting on him that must to Heauen ascend.

e 3

In whom is all that Ladies can desire; (85)
If Beauty, who hath bin more faire than he?
If Wisedome, doth not all the world admire
The depth of his, that cannot searched be?

If wealth, if honour, fame, or Kingdoms store,

Who euer liu'd that was possest of more? (90)

If zeale, if grace, if loue, if pietie,
If constancie, if faith, if faire obedience,
If valour, patience, or sobrietie;
If chast behauiour, meekenesse, continence,

If iustice, mercie, bountie, charitie, (95)

Who can compare with his Diuinitie?

Whose vertues more than thoughts can apprehend,
I leaue to their more cleere imagination,
That will vouchsafe their borrowed time to spend
In meditating, and in contemplation (100)

Of his rare parts, true honours faire prospect,

The perfect line that goodnesse doth direct.

And vnto you I wish those sweet desires,
That from your perfect thoughts doe daily spring,
Increasing still pure, bright, and holy fires, (105)
Which sparkes of pretious grace, by faith doe spring:

Mounting your soule vnto eternall rest,

There to liue happily among the best.

[e 3 verso]

by, Aemilia Lanyer.

Love love...and love again...all you need is love love love!!!

Love poems

A Song...

Absent from thee I languish still;

Then ask me not, when I return?

The straying fool 'twill plainly kill

To wish all day, all night to mourn.
Dear! from thine arms then let me fly,

That my fantastic mind may prove

The torments it deserves to try

That tears my fixed heart from my love.
When, wearied with a world of woe,

To thy safe bosom I retirewhere love and peace and truth does flow,

May I contented there expire,
Lest, once more wandering from that heaven,

I fall on some base heart unblest,

Faithless to thee, false, unforgiven,

And lose my everlasting rest.

The Platonic Lady

I could love thee till I die,

Would'st thou love me modestly,

And ne'er press, whilst I live,

For more than willingly

I would give:

Which should sufficient be to prove

I'd understand the art of love.
I hate the thing is called enjoyment: [ie. orgasm]

Besides it is a dull employment,

It cuts off all that's life and fire

From that which may be termed desire;

Just like the bee whose sting is gone

Converts the owner to a drone.
I love a youth will give me leave

His body in my arms to wreathe;

To press him gently, and to kiss;

To sigh, and look with eyes that wish

For what, if I could once obtain,

I would neglect with flat disdain.
I'd give him liberty to toy

And play with me, and count it joy.

Our freedom should be full complete,

And nothing wanting but the feat.

Let's practice, then, and we shall prove

These are the only sweets of love.

The Mistress:

A Song

An age in her embraces passed

Would seem a winter's day;

When life and light, with envious haste,

Are torn and snatched away.
But, oh! how slowly minutes roll.

When absent from her eyes

That feed my love, which is my soul,

It languishes and dies.
For then no more a soul but shade

It mournfully does move

And haunts my breast, by absence made

The living tomb of love.
You wiser men despise me not,

Whose love-sick fancy raves

On shades of souls and Heaven knows what;

Short ages live in graves.
Whene'er those woundng eyes, so full

Of sweetness, you did see,

Had you not been profoundly dull,

You had gone mad like me.
Nor censure us, you who perceive

My best beloved and me

Sign and lament, complain and grieve;

You think we disagree.
Alas, 'tis sacred jealousy,

Love raised to an extreme;

The only proof 'twixt her and me,

We love, and do not dream.
Fantastic fancies fondly move

And in frail joys believe,

Taking false pleasure for true love;

But pain can ne'er deceive.
Kind jealous doubts, tormenting fears,

And anxious cares when past,

Prove our heart's treasure fixed and dear,

And make us blessed at last.

A Song...

To this moment a rebel

I throw down my arms,

Great Love, at first sight of

Olinda's bright charms.

Make proud and secure by such forces as these,

You may now play the tyrant as soon as you please.
When Innocence, Beauty, and Wit do conspire

To betray, and engage, and inflame my Desire,

Why should I decline what I cannot avoid?

And let pleasing Hope by base Fear be destroyed?
Her innocence cannot contrive to undo me,

Her beauty's inclined, or why should it pursue me?

And Wit has to Pleasure been ever a friend,

Then what room for Despair, since Delight is Love's end?
There can be no danger in sweetness and youth,

Where Love is secured by good nature and truth;

On her beauty I'll gaze and of pleasure complain

While every kind look adds a link to my chain.
'Tis more to maintain than it was to surprise,

But her Wit leads in triumpth the slave of her eyes;

I beheld, with the loss of my freedom before

,But hearing, forever must serve and adore.
Too bright is my Goddess, her temple too weak:

Retire, divine image! I feel my heart break.

Help, Love! I dissolve in a rapture of charms

At the thought of those joys I should meet in her arms.

Song

I cannot change, as others do,

Though you unjustly scorn;

Since that poor swain that sighs for you,

For you alone was born.

No, Phyllis, no, your heart to move

A surer way I'll try:

And to revenge my slighted love,

Will still love on, will still love on, and die.
When, killed with grief,

Amintas liesAnd you to mind shall call,

The sighs that now unpitied rise,

The tears that vainly fall,

That welcome hour that ends this smart

Will then begin your pain;

For such a fauthful tender heart

Can never break, can never break in vain.
A Woman's Honour: A Song
Love bade me hope, and I obeyed;

Phyllis continued still unkind:

Then you may e'en despair, he said,

In vain I strive to change her mind.
Honour's got in, and keeps her heart,

Durst he but venture once abroad,

In my own right I'd take your part,

And show myself the mightier God.
This huffing Honour domineers

In breasts alone where he has place:

But if true generous Love apppears,

The hector dares not show his face.
Let me still languish and complain,

Be most unhumanly denied:

I have some pleasure in my pain,

She can have none with all her pride.
I fall a sacrifice to Love,

She lives a wretch for Honour's sake;

Whose tyrant does most cruel prove,

The difference is not hard to make.
Consider real Honour then,

You'll find hers cannot be the same;'

Tis noble confidence in men,

In women, mean, mistrustful shame.

All My Past Life...

All my past life is mine no more,

The flying hours are gone,

Like transitory dreams given o'er,

Whose images are kept in store

By memory alone.
What ever is to come is not,

How can it then be mine?

The present moment's all my lot,

And that as fast as it is got,

Phyllis, is wholly thine.
Then talk not of inconstancy,

False hearts, and broken vows,

If I, by miracle, can be,

This live-long minute true to thee,

'Tis all that heaven allows.

A Song of a Young Lady to Her Ancient Lover

Ancient Person, for whom

IAll the flattering youth defy,

Long be it e'er thou grow old,

Aching, shaking, crazy cold;

But still continue as thou art,

Ancient Person of my heart.

On thy withered lips and dry,

Which like barren furrows lie,

Brooding kisses I will pour,

Shall thy youthful heart restore,

Such kind show'rs in autumn fall,

And a second spring recall;

Nor from thee will ever part,

Ancient Person of my heart.

Thy nobler parts, which but to name

In our sex would be counted shame,

By ages frozen grasp possest,

From their ice shall be released

,And, soothed by my reviving hand,

In former warmth and vigour stand.

All a lover's wish can reach,

For thy joy my love shall teach;

And for thy pleasure shall improve

All that art can add to love.

Yet still I love thee without art,

Ancient Person of my heart.
Give Me Leave to Rail at You
Give me leave to rail at you,

-I ask nothing but my due:

To call you false, and then to say

You shall not keep my heart a day.

But alas! against my will

I must be your captive still.

Ah! be kinder, then, for

ICannot change, and would not die.

Kindness has resistless charms;

All besides but weakly move;

Fiercest anger it disarms,

And clips the wings of flying love.

Beauty does the heart invade,

Kindness only can persuade;

It gilds the lover's servile chain,

And makes the slave grow pleased again.

by, John Wilmot.

contact me ©2009 Mark Ynys-Mon

AGAINST LOVE

Hence, Cupid with your cheating Toies,
Your real Griefs, and painted Joies,
Your Pleasure which its elf destroies.
Love like men in Feavers burn and rave,
And only what will injure them do crave,
Men's weakness makes Love so severe,
They give him power by their fear,
And make Shackles which they wear.
Who to another does his heart submit,
Makes his own Idols and then worships it.
Him whose heart is all his own,
Peace and liberty does crown,
He apprehends no killing frown.
He feels no raptures, which are joies diseas'd,
And is not much transported, but still pleas'd.

by, Katherine Philips