John Wilbye

(7 March 1574 - September 1638 / Brome, Suffolk)

John Wilbye Poems

1. A Silly Sylvan, Kissing Heav'N-Born Fire 5/31/2012
2. All Pleasure Is Of This Condition 5/31/2012
3. And Though My Love Abounding 5/31/2012
4. Ay Me; Can Every Rumour 5/31/2012
5. Change Me, O Heav'Ns 5/31/2012
6. Dear Pity, How, Ah! 5/31/2012
7. Die, Hapless Man 5/31/2012
8. Down In A Valley As Alexis Trips 5/31/2012
9. Happy Streams, Whose Trembling Fall 5/31/2012
10. O Fools! Can You Not See 5/31/2012
11. O God, The Rock Of My Whole Strength 5/31/2012
12. O, What Shall I Do 5/31/2012
13. O Wretched Man! 5/31/2012
14. Of Joys And Pleasing Pains 5/31/2012
15. So Light Is Love 5/31/2012
16. Oft Have I Vow'D 5/31/2012
17. Softly, O! Dropp Mine Eyes 5/31/2012
18. Stay, Corydon, Thou Swain 5/31/2012
19. I Always Beg 5/31/2012
20. I Am Quite Tired With My Groans 5/31/2012
21. I Fall, I Fall 5/31/2012
22. I Live, And Yet Methinks I Do Not Breathe 5/31/2012
23. I Love, Alas! Yet Am Not Loved 5/31/2012
24. I Sung Sometimes 5/31/2012
25. Sweet Love, If Thou Wilt Gain 5/31/2012
26. The Lady Oriana 5/31/2012
27. There Is A Jewel 5/31/2012
28. There, Where I Saw Her Lovely Beauty Painted 5/31/2012
29. Thou Art But Young, Thou Say’st 5/31/2012
30. Thus Love Commands 5/31/2012
31. Unkind, O, Stay Thy Flying! 5/31/2012
32. Weep, O Mine Eyes 5/31/2012
33. What Needeth All This Travail? 5/31/2012
34. When Cloris Heard 5/31/2012
35. When Shall My Wretched Life 5/31/2012
36. Where Most My Thoughts 5/31/2012
37. Ye Restless Thoughts 5/31/2012
38. Ye That Do Live In Pleasures 5/31/2012
39. Yet, Sweet, Take Heed 5/31/2012
40. Lady, Your Words Do Spite Me 5/31/2012
Best Poem of John Wilbye

Love Not Me For Comely Grace

Love not me for comely grace,
For my pleasing eye or face;
Nor for any outward part,
No, nor for my constant heart:
For those may fail or turn to ill,
So thou and I shall sever.
Keep therefore a true woman's eye,
And love me still, but know not why;
So hast thou the same reason still
To doat upon me ever.

Read the full of Love Not Me For Comely Grace

As Fair As Morn

As fair as morn, as fresh as May,
a pretty grace in saying nay,
Smil'st thou sweetheart?
then sing and say, Ta na na no,
But O! that love enchanting eye,
Lo, here my doubtful doom I try,
Tell me my sweet, live I or die?
She smiles, fa la la la,
Ah, she frowns, Ay me, I die.

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