William Davenant Poems

Frail Life! in which, through mists of human breath
We grope for truth, and make our progress slow,
Because by passion blinded; till by death
...

LET us live, live! for, being dead,
The pretty spots,
Ribbons and knots,
And the fine French dress for the head,
...

THE lark now leaves his wat'ry nest,
And climbing shakes his dewy wings.
He takes this window for the East,
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O thou that sleep'st like pig in straw,
Thou lady dear, arise;
Open (to keep the sun in awe)
Thy pretty pinking eyes:
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The Lark now leaves his watry Nest
And climbing, shakes his dewy Wings;
He takes this Window for the East;
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Praise is devotion fit for mighty minds,
The diff'ring world's agreeing sacrifice;
Where Heaven divided faiths united finds:
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TIS, in good truth, a most wonderful thing
(I am even ashamed to relate it)
That love so many vexations should bring,
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Lover your beauty, ripe and calm and fresh
As eastern summers are,
Must now, forsaking time and flesh,
Add light to some small star.
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WEEP no more for what is past,
For time in motion makes such haste
He hath no leisure to descry
Those errors which he passeth by.
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