Mildmay Fane Poems

If nothing else, may not this season move,
Or time become the true chronicle of love?
And so allay the fury, stint the rage
...

What though 't be cold, and freeze,
Let no good Christian leese
So much of heat and zeal
As not for to remember
...

Awake dull soul, and from thy fold of clay
Receive the blessed tidings of the day:
Not of a fox's cub, whose guile might be
...

When we a gem or precious stone have lost,
Is not the fabric or the frame
Of fancy busied, and each thing tossed
And turned within the room,
...