Poems List
The applause, delight, the wonder of our stage! My Shakespeare, rise; I will not lodge thee by Chaucer or Spenser, or bid Beaumont lie A little further, to make thee a room; Thou art a monument, without a tomb, And art alive still, while thy book doth live, And we have wits to read, and praise to give.
I sent thee late a rosy wreath, Not so much honoring thee As giving it a hope that there It could not wither’d be. But thou thereon didst only breathe, And sent’st it back to me; Since when it grows and smells, I swear, Not of itself, but thee.
Drink to me only with thine eyes, And I will pledge with mine; Or leave a kiss but in the cup And I’ll not look for wine. 2 The thirst that from the soul doth rise Doth ask a drink divine; But might I of Jove’s nectar sup, I would not change for thine.
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