A Collection of British and American Poetry
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Gymnasium Bäumlihof Basel 1 Poetry Englisch A Collection of British and American Poetry Gymnasium Bäumlihof Basel 2 Poetry Englisch BRITISH & COLONIAL POETRY WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE (1564 - 1616) Sonnet 18 Sonnet 94 Shall I compare thee to a summer's day? They that have power to hurt, and will do none, Thou art more lovely and more temperate: That do not do the thing, they most do show, Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May, Who moving others, are themselves as stone, And summer's lease hath all too short a date: Unmoved, cold, and to temptation slow: Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines, They rightly do inherit heaven's graces, And often is his gold complexion dimmed, And husband nature's riches from expense, And every fair from fair sometime declines, Tibey are the lords and owners of their faces, By chance, or nature's changing course untrimmed: Others, but stewards of their excellence: But thy eternal summer shall not fade, The summer's flower is to the summer sweet, Nor lose possession of that fair thou ow'st, Though to it self, it only live and die, Nor shall death brag thou wand'rest in his shade, But if that flower with base infection meet, When in eternal lines to time thou grow'st, The basest weed outbraves his dignity: So long as men can breathe or eyes can see, For sweetest things turn sourest by their deeds, So long lives this, and this gives life to thee. Lilies that fester, smell far worse than weeds. Sonnet 73 Sonnet 116 Let me not to the marriage of true minds That time of year thou mayst in me behold, Admit impediments, love is not love When yellow leaves, or none, or few do hang Which alters when it alteration finds, Upon those boughs which shake against the cold, Or bends with the remover to remove. Bare ruined choirs, where late the sweet birds sang. O no, it is an ever-fixed mark In me thou seest the twilight of such day, That looks on tempests and is never shaken; As after sunset fadeth in the west, It is the star to every wand'ring bark, Which by and by black night doth take away, Whose worth's unknown, although his height be Death's second self that seals up all in rest. taken. In me thou seest the glowing of such fire, Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and That on the ashes of his youth doth lie, cheeks As the death-bed, whereon it must expire, Within his bending sickle's compass come, Consumed with that which it was nourished by. Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks, This thou perceiv'st, which makes thy love more strong, But bears it out even to the edge of doom: To love that well, which thou must leave ere long. If this be error and upon me proved, I never writ, nor no man ever loved. Gymnasium Bäumlihof Basel 3 Poetry Englisch JOHN DONNE (1572 – 1631) But that I would not lose her sight so long. If her eyes have not blinded thine, A Hymn To God The Father. Look, and to-morrow late tell me, I. Whether both th' Indias of spice and mine WILT Thou forgive that sin where I begun, Be where thou left'st them, or lie here with me. Which was my sin, though it were done before? Ask for those kings whom thou saw'st yesterday, Wilt Thou forgive that sin, through which I run, And thou shalt hear, "All here in one bed lay." And do run still, though still I do deplore? She's all states, and all princes I; When Thou hast done, Thou hast not done, Nothing else is; For I have more. Princes do but play us; compared to this, II. All honour's mimic, all wealth alchemy. Wilt Thou forgive that sin which I have won Thou, Sun, art half as happy as we, Others to sin, and made my sin their door? In that the world's contracted thus; Wilt Thou forgive that sin which I did shun Thine age asks ease, and since thy duties be A year or two, but wallowed in a score? To warm the world, that's done in warming us. When Thou hast done, Thou hast not done, Shine here to us, and thou art everywhere; For I have more. This bed thy center is, these walls thy sphere. III. Death Be Not Proud I have a sin of fear, that when I have spun My last thread, I shall perish on the shore ; DEATH be not proud, though some have called But swear by Thyself, that at my death Thy Son thee Shall shine as he shines now, and heretofore ; Mighty and dreadfull, for, thou art not so, And having done that, Thou hast done ; For, those, whom thou think'st, thou dost I fear no more. overthrow, Die not, poore death, nor yet canst thou kill me. From rest and sleepe, which but thy pictures The Sun Rising. bee, BUSY old fool, unruly Sun, Much pleasure, then from thee, much more must Why dost thou thus, flow, Through windows, and through curtains, call on And soonest our best men with thee doe goe, us? Rest of their bones, and soules deliverie. Must to thy motions lovers' seasons run? Thou art slave to Fate, Chance, kings, and Saucy pedantic wretch, go chide desperate men, Late school-boys and sour prentices, And dost with poyson, warre, and sicknesse Go tell court-huntsmen that the king will ride, dwell, Call country ants to harvest offices; And poppie, or charmes can make us sleepe as Love, all alike, no season knows nor clime, well, Nor hours, days, months, which are the rags of And better then thy stroake; why swell'st thou then; time. One short sleepe past, wee wake eternally, Thy beams so reverend, and strong And death shall be no more; death, thou shalt Why shouldst thou think? die. I could eclipse and cloud them with a wink, . Gymnasium Bäumlihof Basel 4 Poetry Englisch BEN JONSON (1573-1637) GEORGE HERBERT (1593 – 1633) To Celia Redemption DRINK to me only with thine eyes, HAVING been tenant long to a rich Lord, And I will pledge with mine; Not thriving, I resolved to be bold, Or leave a kiss but in the cup And make a suit unto him, to afford And I'll not look for wine. A new small-rented lease, and cancell th’ old. The thirst that from the soul doth rise In heaven at his manour I him sought : Doth ask a drink divine; They told me there, that he was lately gone But might I of Jove's nectar sup, About some land, which he had dearly bought I would not change for thine. Long since on earth, to take possession. I sent thee late a rosy wreath, I straight return’d, and knowing his great birth, Not so much honouring thee Sought him accordingly in great resorts ; As giving it a hope that there In cities, theatres, gardens, parks, and courts : It could not wither'd be; At length I heard a ragged noise and mirth But thou thereon didst only breathe, And sent'st it back to me; Of theeves and murderers : there I him espied, Since when it grows, and smells, I Who straight, Your suit is granted, said, and died. swear, Not of itself but thee! JOHN MILTON (1608 – 1674) On His Blindness When I consider how my light is spent Ere half my days in this dark world and wide, And that one talent which is death to hide Lodg'd with me useless, though my soul more bent To serve therewith my Maker, and present My true account, lest he returning chide, "Doth God exact day-labour, light denied?" I fondly ask. But Patience, to prevent That murmur, soon replies: "God doth not need Either man's work or his own gifts: who best Bear his mild yoke, they serve him best. His state Is kingly; thousands at his bidding speed And post o'er land and ocean without rest: They also serve who only stand and wait." Gymnasium Bäumlihof Basel 5 Poetry Englisch ANDREW MARVELL (1621 – 1678) To His Coy Mistress The Definition of Love Had we but world enough, and time, My love is of a birth as rare This coyness, lady, were no crime. As 'tis for object strange and high; We would sit down and think which way It was begotten by Despair To walk, and pass our long love's day; Upon Impossibility. Thou by the Indian Ganges' side Magnanimous Despair alone Shouldst rubies find; I by the tide Could show me so divine a thing Of Humber would complain. I would Where feeble Hope could ne'er have flown, Love you ten years before the Flood; But vainly flapp'd its tinsel wing. And you should, if you please, refuse Till the conversion of the Jews. And yet I quickly might arrive My vegetable love should grow Where my extended soul is fixt, Vaster than empires, and more slow. But Fate does iron wedges drive, An hundred years should go to praise And always crowds itself betwixt. Thine eyes, and on thy forehead gaze; For Fate with jealous eye does see Two hundred to adore each breast, Two perfect loves, nor lets them close; But thirty thousand to the rest; Their union would her ruin be, An age at least to every part, And her tyrannic pow'r depose.