William Strode

(1602 - 1644 / England)

William Strode Poems

41. On A Great Hollow Tree 1/1/2004
42. A Girdle 1/1/2004
43. On The Yong Baronett Portman Dying Of An Impostume In's Head 1/1/2004
44. On Westwell Downes 1/1/2004
45. For A Gentleman, Who, Kissinge His Friend At His Departure Left A Signe Of Blood On Her 1/1/2004
46. A Song On A Sigh 1/1/2004
47. An Epitaph On Mr. Fishborne The Great London Benefactor, And His Executor 1/1/2004
48. On Fayrford Windowes 1/1/2004
49. To His Mistresse 1/1/2004
50. Keepe On Your Maske And Hide Your Eye 1/1/2004
51. An Antheme 1/1/2004
52. An Eare-Stringe 1/1/2004
53. On The Death Of Mrs. Mary Neudham 1/1/2004
54. On The Death Of Sir Rowland Cotton Seconding That Of Sir Robert 1/1/2004
55. On A Watch Made By A Blacksmith 1/1/2004
56. Kisses 5/9/2011
57. On A Gentlewoman That Had Had The Small Poxe 5/9/2011
58. On A Good Legg And Foot 5/9/2011
59. A New Year's Gift 1/1/2004
60. Upon The Sherrifs Beere 1/1/2004
61. On Chloris Standing By The Fire 1/1/2004
62. On Chloris Walking In The Snow 1/1/2004
63. Keepe On Your Maske (Version For His Mistress) 1/1/2004
64. On The Death Of Ladie Caesar 1/1/2004
65. The Chimney-Sweeper's Song 1/1/2004
66. Opposite To Meloncholly 1/1/2004
67. Posies Bracelets 1/1/2004
68. When Orpheus Sweetly Did Complayne 1/1/2004
69. Justification 1/1/2004
70. A Lover To His Mistress 1/1/2004
71. A Necklace 1/1/2004
72. Chloris In The Snow 1/4/2003
73. A Translation Of The Nightingale Out Of Strada 1/1/2004
74. In Commendation Of Musick 1/1/2004
75. On Gray Eyes 1/1/2004
76. On The Death Of A Twin 1/1/2004
77. On The Life Of Man 1/1/2004
78. On The Picture Of Two Dolphins In A Fountayne 1/1/2004
79. To His Sister 1/1/2004
80. A Riddle: On A Kiss 1/1/2004
Best Poem of William Strode

A Riddle: On A Kiss

What thing is that, nor felt nor seene
Till it bee given? a present for a Queene:
A fine conceite to give and take the like:
The giver yet is farther for to seeke;
The taker doth possesse nothing the more,
The giver hee hath nothing lesse in store:
And given once that nature hath it still,
You cannot keepe or leave it if you will:
The workmanshippe is counted very small,
The labour is esteemed naught at all:
But to conclude, this gift is such indeede,
That, if some see't 'twill make theyr hearts to bleede

Read the full of A Riddle: On A Kiss

Her Epitaph

Happy Grave, thou dost enshrine
That which makes thee a rich mine:
Remember yet, 'tis but a loane;
And wee must have it back, Her owne,
The very same; Marke mee, the same:
Thou canst not cheat us with a lame
Deformed Carcase; Shee was fayre,
Fresh as Morning, sweete as Ayre:
Purer than other flesh as farre

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