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Front Matter |
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I. |
When first the feathered god did strike my heart |
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II. |
Soon as the azure-coloured Gates of th’East |
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III. |
Swift-footed Time! look back! and here mark well |
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IV. |
What sugared terms, what all-persuading art |
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V. |
The little Archer viewing well my Love |
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VI. |
Mirror of Beauty! Nature’s fairest Child! |
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VII. |
When Love had first besieged my heart’s strong wall |
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VIII. |
Like to a falcon watching for a flight |
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IX. |
Blot not thy beauty (Fairest, yet unkind!) |
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X. |
When Flora vaunts her in her proud array |
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XI. |
What She can be so cruel as my Love |
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XII. |
Thou (like the fair-faced, gold-encovered book |
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XIII. |
I know, within my mouth, for bashful fear |
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XIII. |
Breathing forth sighs of most heart-breaking might |
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XIV. |
When broad-faced rivers turn unto their fountains |
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XV. |
No sooner leaves Hyperion, Thetis’ bed |
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XVI. |
But thou, my dear sweet-sounding lute, be still! |
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XVII. |
The sun-scorched seaman, when he sees the seas |
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XVIII. |
Cupid had done some heinous act or other |
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XIX. |
When Night returns back to his ugly mansion |
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XX. |
The strongest pine, that Queen Feronia hath |
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XXI. |
As winter’s rage, young plants unkindly spilleth |
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XXII. |
Look, as a bird, through sweetness of the call |
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XXIII. |
My life’s preserver! hope of my heart’s bliss! |
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XXIV. |
When leaden-hearted sleep had shut mine eyes |
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XXV. |
Rough storms have calms, lopt boughs do grow again |
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XXVI. |
The love-hurt heart, which tyrant Cupid wounds |
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XXVII. |
The heaven’s herald may not make compare |
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XXVIII. |
Weary with serving, where I naught could get |
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XXIX. |
Cease, Eyes, to cherish with still flowing tears |
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XXX. |
He that can count the candles of the sky |
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XXXI. |
Fair ivory Brow, the board Love banquets on! |
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XXXII. |
The last so sweet, so balmy, so delicious! |
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XXXIII. |
Thinking to close my over-watchèd eyes |
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XXXIV. |
Why should a Maiden’s heart be of that proof |
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XXXV. |
End this enchantment, Love! of my desires! |
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XXXVI. |
Long did I wish, before I could attain |
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XXXVII. |
Did I not love her as a lover ought |
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XXXVIII. |
Hearken awhile, Diella! to a story |
