Volume Ii Part 171 (2/2)
x.x.x And yet I cannot reprehend the flight Or blame the attempt, presuming so to soar; The mounting venture, for a high delight, Did make the honor of the fall the more.
For who gets wealth, that puts not from the sh.o.r.e?
Danger hath honor; great designs, their fame; Glory doth follow, courage goes before; And though the event oft answers not the same, Suffice that high attempts have never shame.
The Mean-observer (whom base safety keeps) Lives without honor, dies without a name, And in eternal darkness ever sleeps.
And therefore, Delia! 'tis to me no blot To have attempted, though attained thee not.
x.x.xVI When men shall find thy flower, thy glory pa.s.s, And thou, with careful brow, sitting alone, Received hast this message from thy gla.s.s, That tells the truth, and says that All is gone; Fresh shalt thou see in me the wounds thou madest, Though spent thy flame, in me the heat remaining: I that have loved thee thus before thou fadest, My faith shall wax, when thou art in thy waning!
The world shall find this miracle in me, That fire can burn when all the matter's spent: Then what my faith hath been, thyself shalt see, And that thou wast unkind, thou may'st repent!
Thou may'st repent that thou hast scorned my tears, When Winter snows upon thy golden hairs.
x.x.xIX Look, Delia, how we esteem the half-blown rose The image of thy blush, and Summer's honor!
Whilst yet her tender bud doth undisclose That full of beauty Time bestows upon her.
No sooner spreads her glory in the air But straight her wide-blown pomp comes to decline; She then is scorned that late adorned the fair; So fade the roses of those cheeks of thine.
No April can revive thy withered flowers Whose springing grace adorns thy glory now; Swift, speedy Time, feathered with flying hours, Dissolves the beauty of the fairest brow.
Then do not thou such treasure waste in vain, But love now, whilst thou may'st be loved again.
XLV Beauty, sweet Love, is like the morning dew, Whose short refresh upon the tender green Cheers for a time, but till the sun doth show: And straight 'tis gone, as it had never been.
Soon doth it fade, that makes the fairest flourish; Short is the glory of the blus.h.i.+ng rose: The hue which thou so carefully dost nourish, Yet which, at length, thou must be forced to lose.
When thou, surcharged with burthen of thy years, Shalt bend thy wrinkles homeward to the earth; When Time hath made a pa.s.sport for thy fears, Dated in Age, the Calends of our Death: But ah, no more! This hath been often told; And women grieve to think they must be old.
XLVI I must not grieve my Love, whose eyes would read Lines of delight, whereon her youth might smile!
Flowers have a time, before they come to seed; And she is young, and now must sport the while.
And sport, Sweet Maid, in season of these years, And learn to gather flowers before they wither!
And where the sweetest blossom first appears, Let Love and Youth conduct thy pleasures thither!
Lighten forth smiles to clear the clouded air, And calm the tempest which my sighs do raise!
Pity and smiles do best become the fair; Pity and smiles shall yield thee lasting praise.
I hope to say, when all my griefs are gone, ”Happy the heart that sighed for such a one!”
L Let others sing of Knights and Paladines In aged accents and untimely words, Paint shadows in imaginary lines, Which well the reach of their high wit records: But I must sing of Thee, and those fair eyes!
Authentic shall my verse in time to come, When the yet unborn shall say, Lo, where she lies!
Whose beauty made him speak, that else was dumb!
These are the arks, the trophies I erect, That fortify thy name against old age; And these thy sacred virtues must protect Against the Dark, and Time's consuming rage.
Though the error of my youth in them appear, Suffice, they showed I lived, and loved thee dear.
LI Care-charmer Sleep, son of the sable Night, Brother to Death, in silent darkness born: Relieve my languish, and restore the light; With dark forgetting of my care, return!
And let the day be time enough to mourn The s.h.i.+pwreck of my ill-adventured youth: Let waking eyes suffice to wail their scorn, Without the torment of the night's untruth.
Cease, dreams, the images of day-desires, To model forth the pa.s.sions of the morrow; Never let rising sun approve you liars, To add more grief to aggravate my sorrow.
Still let me sleep, embracing clouds in vain; And never wake to feel the day's disdain.
Samuel Daniel [1562-1619]
SONNETS From ”Idea”
To The Reader Of These Sonnets
Into these Loves, who but for Pa.s.sion looks, At this first sight, here let him lay them by, And seek elsewhere in turning other books, Which better may his labor satisfy.
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