Samuel Daniel
An English poet and historian, was the son of a music-master, and was born near Taunton, in Somersetshire, in 1562. Another son, John Daniel, was a musician, who held some offices at court, and was the author of Songs for the Lute, Viol and Voice (1606).
In 1579 Samuel was admitted a commoner of Magdalen Hall, Oxford, where he remained'for abo ...
I
FAIR is my Love and cruel as she 's fair;
Her brow-shades frown, although her eyes are sunny.
Her smiles are lightning, though her pride despair,
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LOVE is a sickness full of woes,
All remedies refusing;
A plant that with most cutting grows,
Most barren with best using.
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Unto the boundless Ocean of thy beauty
Runs this poor river, charg'd with streams of zeal:
Returning thee the tribute of my duty,
Which here my love, my youth, my plaints reveal.
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If this be love, to draw a weary breath,
Paint on floods, till the shore, cry to th'air,
With downward looks still reading on the earth,
The sad memorials of my love's despair.
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Go, wailing verse, the infants of my love,
Minerva-like, brought forth without a Mother:
Present the image of the cares I prove;
Witness your Father's grief exceeds all other.
...
Comments
He was a wonderful poet and the ease with which he wrote poems are amazing.
(Does any body can help me in this poem? it is for Samuel Daniel :) O blessed letters,1 that combine in one All ages past, and make one live with all; By you we do confer with who are gone, And the dead-living unto counsel call; By you the unborn shall have communion Of what we feel, and what doth us befall. Soul of the world, Knowledge, without thee, What hath the earth that truly glorious is? Why should our pride make such a stir to be, To be forgot? What good is like to this, To do worthy the writing, and to write Worthy the reading, and the world’s delight?
O blessed letters,1 that combine in one All ages past, and make one live with all; By you we do confer with who are gone, And the dead-living unto counsel call; By you the unborn shall have communion Of what we feel, and what doth us befall. Soul of the world, Knowledge, without thee, What hath the earth that truly glorious is? Why should our pride make such a stir to be, To be forgot? What good is like to this, To do worthy the writing, and to write Worthy the reading, and the world’s delight? Does any body can help me in this poem? it is for Samuel Daniel :)
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