Songs From The 'Shepherd's Garland'

The Gods delight, the heauens hie spectacle,
Earths greatest glory, worlds rarest miracle.

Fortunes fay'rst mistresse, vertues surest guide,
Loues Gouernesse, and natures chiefest pride.

Delights owne darling, honours cheefe defence,
Chastities choyce, and wisdomes quintessence.

Conceipts sole Riches, thoughts only treasure,
Desires true hope, Ioyes sweetest pleasure.

Mercies due merite, valeurs iust reward,
Times fayrest fruite, fames strongest guarde.

Yea she alone, next that eternall he,
The expresse Image of eternitie.

Michael Drayton

Michael Drayton was an English poet who produced a variety of work, including historical poems, sonnets, and a vast poem on the geography of England. His most significant contribution to poetry is the long historical epic "Poly-Olbion" which describes the topography and history of England and Wales. Drayton's poetry often reflects his staunch patriotism and deep scholarly interest in English history.

Michael Drayton

To The Deere Chyld Of The Muses, And His Euer Kind MecæNas, Ma. Anthony Cooke, Esquire

Michael Drayton, Simple Poetry

Sonnet 36 Cupid coniured

Michael Drayton, Simple Poetry

An Amovret Anacreontick

Michael Drayton, Simple Poetry

Of His Ladies Not Comming To London

Michael Drayton, Simple Poetry

English

Suggested Poems

Explore a curated selection of verses that share themes, styles, and emotional resonance with the poem you've just read.

Amour 23

Wonder of Heauen, glasse of diuinitie,
Rare beautie, Natures joy, perfections Mother,
The worke of that vnited Trinitie,
Wherein each fayrest part excelleth other!
Loues Mithridate, the purest of perfection,
Celestiall Image, Load-stone of desire,
The soules delight, the sences true direction,
Sunne of the world, thou hart reuyuing fire!
Why should'st thou place thy Trophies in those eyes,
Which scorne the honor that is done to thee,
Or make my pen her name immortalize,
Who in her pride sdaynes once to look on me?
    It is thy heauen within her face to dwell,
    And in thy heauen, there onely, is my hell.

Michael Drayton

From Eclogue ij

Then this great Vniuerse no lesse,
Can serue her prayses to expresse:
Betwixt her eies the poles of Loue,
The host of heauenly beautyes moue,
Depainted in their proper stories,
As well the fixd as wandring glories,
Which from their proper orbes not goe,
Whether they gyre swift or slowe:
Where from their lips, when she doth speake,
The musick of those sphears do breake,
Which their harmonious motion breedeth:
From whose cheerfull breath proceedeth:
That balmy sweetnes that giues birth
To euery ofspring of the earth.
Her shape and cariage of which frame
In forme how well shee beares the same,
Is that proportion heauens best treasure,
Whereby it doth all poyze and measure,
So that alone her happy sight
Conteynes perfection and delight.

Michael Drayton

Amour 46

Sweete secrecie, what tongue can tell thy worth?
What mortall pen sufficiently can prayse thee?
What curious Pensill serues to lim thee forth?
What Muse hath power aboue thy height to raise thee?
Strong locke of kindnesse, Closet of loues store,
Harts Methridate, the soules preseruatiue;
O vertue! which all vertues doe adore,
Cheefe good, from whom all good things wee deriue.
O rare effect! true bond of friendships measure,
Conceite of Angels, which all wisdom teachest;
O, richest Casket of all heauenly treasure,
In secret silence which such wonders preachest.
    O purest mirror! wherein men may see
    The liuely Image of Diuinitie.

Michael Drayton

Amour 29

O eyes! behold your happy Hesperus,
That luckie Load-starre of eternall light,
Left as that sunne alone to comfort vs,
When our worlds sunne is vanisht out of sight.
O starre of starres! fayre Planet mildly moouing,
O Lampe of vertue! sun-bright, euer shyning,
O mine eyes Comet! so admyr'd by louing,
O cleerest day-starre! neuer more declyning.
O our worlds wonder! crowne of heauen aboue,
Thrice happy be those eyes which may behold thee!
Lou'd more then life, yet onely art his loue
Whose glorious hand immortal hath enrold thee!
    O blessed fayre! now vaile those heauenly eyes,
    That I may blesse mee at thy sweet arise.

Michael Drayton

From Eclogue ix

Motto.    Tell me thou skilfull shepheards swayne,
            Who's yonder in the vally set?
Perkin. O it is she whose sweets do stayne,
            The Lilly, Rose, or violet.

Motto.    Why doth the Sunne against his kind,
            Stay his bright Chariot in the skies,
Perkin. He pawseth almost stroken blind,
            With gazing on her heauenly eies:

Motto.    Why doe thy flocks forbeare their foode,
            Which somtyme was their chiefe delight,
Perkin. Because they neede no other good,
            That liue in presence of her sight:

Motto.    How com those flowers to florish still,
            Not withering with sharpe winters breath?
Perkin. She hath robd nature of her skill,
            And comforts all things with her breath:

Michael Drayton

From Eclogue ij

Tell me fayre flocke, (if so you can conceaue)
The sodaine cause of my night-sunnes eclipse,
If this be wrought me my light to bereaue,
By Magick spels, from some inchanting lips
Or vgly Saturne from his combust sent,
This fatall presage of deaths dreryment.

Oh cleerest day-starre, honored of mine eyes,
Yet sdaynst mine eyes should gaze vpon thy light,
Bright morning sunne, who with thy sweet arise,
Expell'st the clouds of my harts lowring night,
Goddes reiecting sweetest sacrifice,
Of mine eyes teares ay offered to thine eyes.

May purest heauens scorne my soules pure desires?
Or holy shrines hate Pilgrims orizons?
May sacred temples gaynsay sacred prayers?
Or Saints refuse the poores deuotions?
Then Orphane thoughts with sorrow be you waind,
...

Michael Drayton