Sonnets from the Portuguese, XIII
And wilt thou have me fashion into speech
The love I bear thee, finding words enough,
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For Each Ecstatic Instant
For each ecstatic instant
We must an anguish pay.
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If I May Have It
If I may have it when it’s dead
I will contented be;
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Dear Chains
Rose-maiden, no, I do not quarrel
With these dear chains, they don't demean.
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Song
When I am dead, my dearest,
Sing no sad songs for me;
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YOU SMILED
You smiled, you spoke and I believed,
By every word and smile- deceived.
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Mild Is The Parting Year
Mild is the parting year and sweet
The odour of the falling spray;
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So We'll Go No More A-roving
So, we'll go no more a-roving
So late into the night,
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The Sorrow of Love
The quarrel of the sparrow in the eaves,
The full round moon and the star-laden sky,
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To the Virgins, Make Much of Time
Gather ye rosebuds while ye may,
Old time is still a-flying,
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