The W ound of Love (Heinrich vom M orungen, 11 50 -1222)

She has wounded m e

in m y innerm ost soul, w ithin the m ortal core,

when I told her 5 that I was raving and anguished

in desire for her glorious lips. O nce I bade m y o wn lips

to com m end m e to her service, and to steal m e

10 a tender kiss of hers, that I m ight be for ever well .

Ho w I begin to hate her rose -red lips,

which I never yet forgot! 15 It troubles m e still,

that they once refused m e w ith such vehem ence. Thus I have gro wn so weak

that I would far rather— alive — 20 burn in the abyss

of hell than serve her still, not kno wing to what end.

“T o H is Coy M istress ” (And re w M arvell, 1621 -1678)

Had we but W orld enough, and T im e,

T his coyness, Lady, were no crim e. W e would s it do wn, and think which way T o walk, and pass our long Love’s Day.

5 T hou by the Indian G anges’ s ide Should Rubies find; I by the T ide O f Hum ber would com plain. I would Love you ten years before the F lood, And you should, if you please, refuse

10 T ill the Conversion of the Je ws. M y vegetable Love should grow Vaster than Em pires, and m ore slo w; An hundred years should go to praise T hine Eyes, and in thy Forehead gaze;

15 T wo hundred to adore each B reast: But thirty thousand to the rest. An Age at least to every part, And the last Age should sho w your Heart. F or, Lady, you deserve this state;

20 Nor would I love at lo wer rate.

But at m y back I alwa ys hear T im e’s w ingèd Char iot hurrying near; And yonder all before us lie Deserts of vast eternity.

25 Thy Be auty shall no m ore be found. Nor in thy m arble Vault, shall sound M y echoing Song; then W orm s shall try That long preserved V irginity, And your quaint Honor turn to dust,

30 And into Ashes all m y lust: The G rave’s a fine and private place, But none, I think, do there em brace.

No w, therefore, while the youthful hue S its on thy skin like m orning de w,

35 And while thy w illing Soul transpires A t every pore w ith instant F ires, No w let us sport us while we m ay, And no w, like am orous birds of prey, Rather at once our tim e devour

40 Than languish in his s lo w -chapped po wer. Let us roll all our S trength and all O ur Sweetness up into one Ball, And tear our P leasures w ith rough strife Thorough the Iron gates of Life:

45 Thus, though we cannot m ake our Sun S tand still, yet we w ill m ake him run.

“To the Virgins, to Make Much of Time”(Robert Herrick, 1591-1674)

Gather ye rosebuds while ye may,Old time is still a-flying;

And this same flower that smiles today,Tomorrow will be dying.

The glorious lamp of heaven, the sun,The higher he’s a-getting,

The sooner will his race be run,And nearer he’s to setting.

That age is best which is the first,When youth and blood are warmer;

But being spent, the worse, and worstTimes still succeed the former.

Then be not coy, but use your time,And while you may, go marry;

For having lost but once your prime,You may forever tarry.

Upon Julia ’s B reasts (Robert Herrick, 1591 -1674)

D isplay thy breasts, m y Julia, there let m e Behold that c ircum m ortal purity: Between whose glories, there m y lips I ’ll lay, Ravished, in that fair V ia Lactea

Upon Julia ’s C lothes

(Robert Herrick) W hen as in s ilks m y Julia goes, T hen, then (m e thinks) ho w sweetly flo ws T hat liquefaction of her c lothes. Next, when I cast m ine eyes and see T hat brave V ibration each wa y free; O ho w that glittering taketh m e!