As virtuous men pass mildly away, And whisper to their souls to go, Whilst some of their sad friends do say The breath goes now, and some say, No: So let us melt, and make no noise, No tear-floods, nor sigh-tempests move; 'Twere profanation of our joys To tell the laity our love. Moving . . .
The Nymph’s Reply to the Shepherd
If all the world and love were young, And truth in every shepherd’s tongue, These pretty pleasures might me move To live with thee and be thy love. Time drives the flocks from field to fold When rivers rage and rocks grow cold, And Philomel becometh dumb; The rest complains of cares to . . .
The Reading
Run your hand over the poem, and you already know it. Feel the round of the R to begin; curl under the opening line and cup the first y so you can feel its tail tickling. Run your hand across its side and gather up the poem, the cup, the tail and begin down. You will do this again, but . . .
Sonnet (With Children)
My love is like a deep and placid lake... Not now, sweetie, Daddy's busy, OK? OK: my love's a deep and peaceful lake... Here, Daddy can fix it. All better. Now go play. Um, my love, yes—a rose that blooms in spring... You tell her Daddy says she has to share. My love's... My love's a lake that . . .
The Passionate Shepherd to His 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 . . .
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