Thomas Lodge (Òîìàñ Ëîäæ)

To Phyllis

LOVE guards the roses of thy lips
    And flies about them like a bee; 
If I approach, he forward skips,
    And if I kiss he stingeth me.

Love in thine eyes doth build his bower,
    And sleeps within their pretty shine; 
And if I look the boy will lower,
    And from their orbs shoot shafts divine.

Love works thy heart within his fire,
    And in my tears doth firm the same; 
And if I tempt it will retire,
    And of my plaints doth make a game.

Love, let me cull her choicest flowers,
    And pity me, and calm her eye, 
Make soft her heart, dissolve her lowers,
    Then I will praise thy deity.

But if thou do not, Love, I'll truly serve her
In spite of these, and by firm faith deserve her. 

1. Description of Rosaline
2. The Earth, Late Chok'd with Showers
3. Ìàäðèãàë äëÿ Ðîçàëèíäû • Rosalind’s Madrigal

Edmund Waller (Ýäìóíä Óîëëåð) To Phyllis ("Phyllis! why should we delay")

Ðàñïå÷àòàòü ñòèõîòâîðåíèå (Poem to print)

Êîëè÷åñòâî îáðàùåíèé ê ñòèõîòâîðåíèþ: 628

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