Thou art to all lost love the best,
The only true plant found,
Wherewith young men and maids distrest
And left of love, are crown'd.
Thou art to all lost love the best,
The only true plant found,
Wherewith young men and maids distrest
And left of love, are crown'd.
Now will it best avail your Majesty
To cross the seas and to be crown'd in France:
The presence of a king engenders love
Amongst his subjects and his loyal friends,
As it disanimates his enemies.
For Venus, Sappho shall a wreath prepare,
And Love be crown'd, immortal as the Nine!
And when all bodies meet,
In Lethe to be drown'd,
Then only numbers sweet
With endless life are crown'd.
I am going a long way With these thou sestif indeed I go (For all my mind is clouded with a doubt) To the island-valley of Avilion, Where falls not hail or rain or any snow, Nor ever wind blows loudly but it lies Deep-meadow'd, happy, fair with orchard lawns And bowery hollows crown'd with summer sea, Where I will heal me of my grievous wound.
And yet, O lover, thee, the ruin'd one,
Love who hath humbled thus hath also crown'd.
You first of all crown'd her; she must, of due,
Render for that, a crown of life to you.
© 2020 Inspirational Stories
© 2020 Inspirational Stories