Isabella Valancy Crawford

Of all the spots for making love, Give me a shady dairy, With crimson tiles, and blushing smiles From its presiding fairy; The jolly sunbeams peeping in Thro' vine leaves all a-flutter, Like greetings sent from Phoebus to The Goddess of Fresh Butter.

The swallows twittering in the eaves, The air of Summer blowing Thro' open door from where a score Of tall rose-trees are growing, A distant file of hollyhocks, A rugged bush of tansy, And nearer yet beside the steps A gorgeous purple pansy;

Suggestive scents of new-mown hay, From lowland meadows coming; The distant ripple of a stream, And drowsy sounds of humming From able-bodied bees that bevy About the morning-glory, Or dawdle pleasantly around The apple-blossoms hoary.

A rosy bloom pervades the spot; And where the shadows darkle, In glittering rows the shining pans Show many a brilliant sparkle. As snowy as my lady's throat, Or classic marble urn, In central floor there proudly stands The scourèd white-wood churn.

And she who reigns o'er churn and pan-- In truth, my friend, between us, My dimpled Chloe is more fair Than Milo's famous Venus. Mark, mark those eyes so arch and dark, Those lips like crimson clover, And ask yourself, as well you may, How I could prove a rover.

Talk not to me of moonlit groves, Of empress, belle, or fairy; To me the fairest love of loves Is Chloe of the Dairy.

Come live with me, and be my love,
And we will all the pleasures prove,
That vallies, groves, or hills, or field,
Or woods, and steepy mountains yield;

Where we will sit upon the rocks,
And see the shepherds feed their flocks,
By shallow rivers, to whose falls
Melodious birds sing madrigals.

And I will make thee beds of roses,
And then a thousand fragrant posies,
A cap of flowers, and a kirtle,
Embroined all with leaves of myrtle;

A gown made of the finest wool,
Which from our pretty lambs we pull;
Slippers, lined choicely 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 shephards swains shall dance and sing
For thy delight each May-morning:
If these delights thy mind may move,
Come live with me and be my love.


Christopher Marlow

aku, lebih dari tujuh tajuk mengungkit
melemparkan kebaikanku
mengekang rasa biru pada sebuah cinta

ingin aku pulihkan semasa apa yang aku rasa
tapi hanyalah mimpi dibungkus harapan
takkan aku berada dalam kebodohan itu lagi

jiwamu dalam bilik relungmu
aku tak akan banyak berkata padamu
satu perasaan telah mewakilinya
singgah,... "kau rasakan tak!?"
Akh! apalagi yang kau nak?
telinganya tuli tahu!
matanya tak buta tahu!
berhadap hadaplah dengan jujur

** un vakhair ich fiebher la queirn ijhs dattquin

takkan ada rasa risau lagi
tak kalah bila engkau disini
pas disampingku
kau penuh pesona dan membelah rindu ini
menyematkan cinta
dalam labuhan jiwa berujung
dalam ribaan hati penuh lembut

semasa waktu itu begitu cepat
yang melewati jam hanya dalam detik

aku ingin membawa waktu itu