Far Beyond the Realm of Ocean, Hidden in the Mist that Surrounds the
Hyperborean Land, Lies an Enchanted Garden. Step Inside and Allow
Your Eyes to Behold the Delightful Visions that Dwell Just Past the Cloudy Gates.
|Queen and huntress, chaste and fair,
Now the sun is laid to sleep,
Seated in thy silver chair
State in wonted manner keep:
Hesperus entreats thy light,
Goddess excellently bright.
Earth, let not thy envious shade
Lay thy bow of pearl apart
Hymn to Diana
|From the forests and highlands
We come, we come;
From the river-girt islands,
Where loud waves are dumb
Listening to my sweet pipings.
The wind in the reeds and rushes,
The bees on the bells of thyme,
The birds on the myrtle bushes,
The cicale above in the lime,
And the lizards below in the grass,
Were as silent as ever old Tmolus was,
Listening to my sweet pipings.
Liquid Peneus was flowing,
I sang of the dancing stars,
A Hymn to Pan
|So we'll go no more a roving
So late into the night,
Though the heart be still as loving,
And the moon be still as bright.
For the sword outwears it's sheath,
Though the night was made for loving,
So We'll Go No More A Roving
|Was this the face that launched a thousand ships,
And burnt the topless towers of Ilium?
Sweet Helen, make me immortal with a kiss.
Her lips suck forth my soul; see, where it flies!
Come, Helen, come, give me my soul again!
Here will I dwell, for heaven is in these lips,
And all is dross that is not Helena.
I will be Paris, and for love of thee,
Instead of Troy, shall Wertenberg be sacked;
And I will combat with weak Menelaus,
And wear thy colors on my pluméd crest;
Yea, I will wound Achilles in the heel.
And then return to Helen for a kiss.
O, thou art fairer than the evening air
Clad in the beauty of a thousand stars;
Brighter art thou than flaming Jupiter
When he appeared to hapless Semele;
More lovely than the monarch of the sky
In wanton Arethusa's azured arms;
And none but thou shall be my paramour.
Was This The Face
|Sacred Goddess, Mother Earth,
Leaf and blade, and bud and blossom,
Breathe thine influence most divine
On thine own child Proserpine.
If with mists of evening dew
Song of Proserpine
|You don't sit there anymore,
What's left? A soiled wall next to a door
Traces left behind for me;
For you again I shall not see;
Until it comes to be the day,
To which the ferryman I'll pay,
My token fare;
And you'll be there;
To greet me, free without a care.
To My Dog Zephyr
|All ye woods, and trees, and bowers,
All ye virtues and ye powers
That inhabit in the lakes,
In the pleasant springs or brakes,
Move your feet
To our sound
Whilst we greet
All this ground
With his honor and his name
That defends our flocks from blame.
|He is great, and he is just,
He is ever good, and must
Thus be honored. Daffadillies,
Roses, pinks and loved lilies,
Let us fling,
Whilst we sing,
Ever honored, ever young!
Thus great Pan is ever sung.
|Orpheus with his lute made trees,|
And the mountaintops that freeze,
Bow themselves when he did sing;
To his music plants and flowers
Ever sprung; as sun and showers
There had made a lasting spring.
|Everything that heard him play,
Even the billows of the sea.
Hung their heads, and then lay by.
In sweet music is such art:
Killing care and grief of heart
Fall asleep, or, hearing, die.
Orpheus With His Lute
|Cupid and my Campaspe played
At cards for kisses, Cupid paid;
He stakes his quiver, bow, and arrows,
His mother's doves and team of sparrows:
Loses them too; then down he throws
The coral of his lip, the rose
Growing on's cheek (but none knows how);
With these the crystal of his brow,
And then the dimple of his chin-
All these did my Campaspe win.
At last he set her both his eyes.
She won, and Cupid blind did rise.
O Love, has she done this to thee?
What shall alas! become of me?
Cupid And My Campaspe Played