I Guess It's Poetry Morning


I Guess It's Poetry Morning

Just what happens when you stumble across a patch of poetry that you really, really like. Surveying some Elizabethans, I came upon Good Sir Henry Howard and this delight:

  Complaint of a Lover Rebuked Sir Henry Howard

LOVE, that liveth and reigneth in my thought,
That built his seat within my captive breast ;
Clad in the arms wherein with me he fought,
Oft in my face he doth his banner rest.
She, that taught me to love, and suffer pain ;
My doubtful hope, and eke my hot desire
With shamefaced cloak to shadow and restrain,
Her smiling grace converteth straight to ire.
And coward Love then to the heart apace
Taketh his flight ; whereas he lurks, and plains
His purpose lost, and dare not shew his face.
For my Lord's guilt thus faultless bide I pains.
    Yet from my Lord shall not my foot remove :
   Sweet is his death, that takes his end by love.

Bookmark and Share



About this Entry

This page contains a single entry by Steven Riddle published on October 24, 2002 8:22 AM.

The Ever-Delightful Countess of Pembroke was the previous entry in this blog.

Words from Samuel Daniel Here's is the next entry in this blog.

Find recent content on the main index or look in the archives to find all content.

My Blogroll