Aphra Behn: Всі вірші поета | Poetree

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A Thousand Martyrs I Have Made

A Thousand Martyrs I Have Made

A thousand Martyrs I have made,

All sacrific'd to my desire;

A thousand Beauties have betray'd,

That languish in resistless Fire.

The untam'd Heart to hand I brought,

And fixt the wild and wandring Thought.

I never vow'd nor sigh'd in vain

But both, thô false, were well receiv'd.

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The Disappointment

The Disappointment

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One Day the Amarous Lisander,

By an impatient Passion sway'd,

Surpris'd fair Cloris, that lov'd Maid,

Who cou'd defend her self no longer ;

All things did with his Love conspire,

The gilded Planet of the Day,

In his gay Chariot, drawn by Fire,

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Song : 'Love Armed'

Song : 'Love Armed'

Love in fantastic triumph sate

Whilst bleeding hearts around him flow’d,

For whom fresh pains he did create

And strange tyrannic power he show’d:

From thy bright eyes he took his fires,

Which round about in sport he hurl’d;

But ’twas from mine he took desires

Enough t’ undo the amorous world.

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Epitaph on the Tombstone of a Child

Epitaph on the Tombstone of a Child

This Little, Silent, Gloomy Monument,

Contains all that was sweet and innocent ;

The softest pratler that e'er found a Tongue,

His Voice was Musick and his Words a Song ;

Which now each List'ning Angel smiling hears,

Such pretty Harmonies compose the Spheres;

Wanton as unfledg'd Cupids, ere their Charms

Has learn'd the little arts of doing harms ;

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Song (Love)

Song (Love)

Oh love! that stronger art than Wine,

Pleasing Delusion, Witchery divine,

Wont to be priz'd above all Wealth,

Disease that has more Joys than Health;

Though we blaspheme thee in our Pain,

And of Tyranny complain,

We are all better'd by thy Reign.

What Reason never can bestow,

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