The Passionate Shepherd to His Love (Christopher Marlowe)
Come live with me and be my Love,
And we will all the pleasures prove
That hills and valleys, dale and field,
And all the craggy mountains yield.
There will we sit upon the rocks
And see the shepherds feed their flocks,
By shallow rivers, to whose falls
Melodious birds sing madrigals.
There will I make thee beds of roses
And a thousand fragrant posies,
A cap of flowers, and a kirtle
Embroider'd all with leaves of myrtle.
A gown made of the finest wool
Which from our pretty lambs we pull,
Fair linèd slippers for the cold,
With buckles of the purest gold.
A belt of straw and ivy buds
With coral clasps and amber studs:
And if these pleasures may thee move,
Come live with me and be my Love.
Thy silver dishes for thy meat
As precious as the gods do eat,
Shall on an ivory table be
Prepared each day for thee and me.
The shepherd swains shall dance and sing
For thy delight each May-morning:
If these delights thy mind may move,
Then live with me and be my Love.
Come live with me and be my Love,
And we will all the pleasures prove
That hills and valleys, dale and field,
And all the craggy mountains yield.
There will we sit upon the rocks
And see the shepherds feed their flocks,
By shallow rivers, to whose falls
Melodious birds sing madrigals.
There will I make thee beds of roses
And a thousand fragrant posies,
A cap of flowers, and a kirtle
Embroider'd all with leaves of myrtle.
A gown made of the finest wool
Which from our pretty lambs we pull,
Fair linèd slippers for the cold,
With buckles of the purest gold.
A belt of straw and ivy buds
With coral clasps and amber studs:
And if these pleasures may thee move,
Come live with me and be my Love.
Thy silver dishes for thy meat
As precious as the gods do eat,
Shall on an ivory table be
Prepared each day for thee and me.
The shepherd swains shall dance and sing
For thy delight each May-morning:
If these delights thy mind may move,
Then live with me and be my Love.
no subject
Date: 2009-10-08 08:11 pm (UTC)From:O mistress mine, where are you roaming?
O stay and hear! your true-love's coming
That can sing both high and low;
Trip no further, pretty sweeting,
Journey's end in lovers' meeting--
Every wise man's son doth know.
What is love? 'tis not hereafter;
Present mirth hath present laughter;
What's to come is still unsure:
In delay there lies no plenty,--
Then come kiss me, Sweet and twenty,
Youth's a stuff will not endure.
no subject
Date: 2009-10-10 05:58 am (UTC)From:no subject
Date: 2009-10-11 02:33 pm (UTC)From:no subject
Date: 2009-10-10 05:59 am (UTC)From:I totally remember studying these poems with you in senior English. Do you remember how after we read Elizabeth Barrett Browning's "How Do I Love Thee? Let Me Count the Ways" the teacher passed out a purple mimeographed quiz sheet, and one of the questions was, "How many ways does she list?"
I love thee to the depth and breadth and height/My soul can reach -- Is that one way, or three? There was only one right answer!
Interpreting poetry for dumbasses. We both had to suffer through it. What a goddamn joke.
no subject
Date: 2009-10-11 02:40 pm (UTC)From:I don't remember the quiz, but I remember spending a lot of time thinking, "What the hell is the point of this?" and "Oy, missing the point!" so it sounds about right...
(Er, the "missing the point" being discussion of works, and the "what is the point?" because the sitting around and--gah. I'm sleepy. It made sense in my head, I promise.)