The Clod & the Pebble
Love seeketh not Itself to please,
Nor for itself hath any care;
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My Love in Her Attire
My love in her attire doth show her wit,
It doth so well become her:
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The Banks Of Bonnie Doon
Yon banks and hills of bonnie Doon,
How can you bloom so fresh and fair?
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A Birthday
My heart is like a singing bird
Whose heart is in a watered shoot.
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Rose Aylmer
Ah, what avails the sceptred race;
Ah, what the form divine.
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Hyacinth
I am in love with him
To whom a hyacinth is dearer
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Eulalie
I dwelt alone
In a world of moan
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Lodged
The rain to the wind said,
"You push and I'll pelt."
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To Helen
Helen, thy beauty is to me
Like those Nicean barks of yore,
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If I May Have It
If I may have it when it’s dead
I will contented be;
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