Song. Farewell, Fair Armida.

    Farewell, fair Armida, my joy and my grief,
    In vain I have loved you, and hope no relief;
    Undone by your virtue, too strict and severe,
    Your eyes gave me love, and you gave me despair;
    Now call'd by my honour, I seek with content
    The fate which in pity you would not prevent:
    To languish in love, were to find by delay
    A death that's more welcome the speediest way.
    On seas and in battles, in bullets and fire,
    The danger is less than in hopeless desire;
    My death's-wound you give, though far off I bear
    My fall from your sight--not to cost you a tear:
    But if the kind flood on a wave should convey,
    And under your window my body should lay,
    The wound on my breast when you happen to see,
    You'll say with a sigh--it was given by me.

John Dryden

John Dryden was an influential English poet, literary critic, translator, and playwright who was made England’s first Poet Laureate in 1668. His work dominated the literary life of Restoration England and he is seen as a major figure in the literary history of the period. Dryden's notable works include the satirical poem 'Absalom and Achitophel' and the mock-heroic 'Mac Flecknoe.'

John Dryden

The Tears Of Amynta, For The Death Of Damon.

John Dryden, Simple Poetry

Prologue To "Albion And Albanius."

John Dryden, Simple Poetry

To His Friend The Author, John Hoddesdon, On His Divine Epigrams.

John Dryden, Simple Poetry

To Sir Godfrey Kneller, Principal Painter To His Majesty.[1]

John Dryden, Simple Poetry

English

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Song In The "Maiden Queen."

    I feed a flame within, which so torments me,
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John Dryden

A Song.

        Fair, sweet, and young, receive a prize
        Reserved for your victorious eyes:
        From crowds, whom at your feet you see,
        O pity, and distinguish me!
        As I from thousand beauties more
        Distinguish you, and only you adore.

        Your face for conquest was design'd,
        Your every motion charms my mind;
        Angels, when you your silence break,
        Forget their hymns, to hear you speak;
        But when at once they hear and view,
        Are loth to mount, and long to stay with you.

        No graces can your form improve,
        But all are lost, unless you love;
        While that sweet passion you disdain,
        Your veil and beauty are in vain:
        In pity then prevent my fate,
    ...

John Dryden

A Song.

        Go tell Amynta, gentle swain,
        I would not die, nor dare complain:
        Thy tuneful voice with numbers join,
        Thy words will more prevail than mine.
        To souls oppress'd and dumb with grief,
        The gods ordain this kind relief;
        That music should in sounds convey,
        What dying lovers dare not say.

        A sigh or tear perhaps she'll give,
        But love on pity cannot live.
        Tell her that hearts for hearts were made,
        And love with love is only paid.
        Tell her my pains so fast increase,
        That soon they will be past redress;
        But ah! the wretch that speechless lies,
        Attends but death to close his eyes.

John Dryden

A Song To A Fair Young Lady, Going Out Of Town In The Spring.

        Ask not the cause, why sullen Spring
            So long delays her flowers to bear;
        Why warbling birds forget to sing,
            And winter storms invert the year:
        Chloris is gone, and fate provides
        To make it Spring, where she resides.

        Chloris is gone, the cruel fair;
            She cast not back a pitying eye;
        But left her lover in despair,
            To sigh, to languish, and to die:
        Ah, how can those fair eyes endure
        To give the wounds they will not cure?

        Great God of love, why hast thou made
            A face that can all hearts command,
        That all religions can evade,
            And change the laws of every land?
        Where thou hadst placed such power bef...

John Dryden

A Song.

    High state and honours to others impart,
        But give me your heart:
    That treasure, that treasure alone,
        I beg for my own.

    So gentle a love, so fervent a fire,
        My soul does inspire;
    That treasure, that treasure alone,
        I beg for my own.
    Your love let me crave;
            Give me in possessing
        So matchless a blessing;
    That empire is all I would have.
            Love's my petition,
                All my ambition;
            If e'er you discover
            So faithful a lover,
            So real a flame,
            I'll die, I'll die,
            So give up my game.

John Dryden

A Modern Sappho

They are gone: all is still: Foolish heart, dost thou quiver?
Nothing moves on the lawn but the quick lilac shade.
Far up gleams the house, and beneath flows the river.
Here lean, my head, on this cool balustrade.

Ere he come: ere the boat, by the shining-branchd border
Of dark elms come round, dropping down the proud stream;
Let me pause, let me strive, in myself find some order,
Ere their boat-music sound, ere their broiderd flags gleam.

Is it hope makes me linger? the dim thought, that sorrow
Means parting? that only in absence lies pain?
It was well with me once if I saw him: to-morrow
May bring one of the old happy moments again.

Last night we stood earnestly talking together
She enterd, that moment his eyes turnd from me.
Fastend on her dark...

Matthew Arnold