The red fox, the sun,
tears the throat of the evening;
makes the light of the day
bleed into the ocean.
The laced grace of gulls
lift up from the corn fields;
fly across the sunset,
scarlet their silhouette.
The old owl, the moon,
drifts from its loose thatch of clouds,
throws an ivory glance
on an enamelled sea.
Eyes of mice, the stars,
from the privacy of light
peep into the darkness
with the temerity of night.
Morning is only
A heron rising
With great wings lifting
day into the sky.
Morning is only
The white plumes of smoke
As the velvet snake
Night leaves the green valley.
Morning is only
A scarlet stallion
Jumping the ocean,
It’s mane aflame on the sea.
Morning is only
Women bent at the well
Lifting their pails full
Of their hearts, too heavy.
Night is no more
than a cat which creeps
to the saucer of light
laps, then sleeps.
Night is no more
than the place waves reach
with their hands of surf
seeking the beach.
Night is no more
than the hounds of fear
with bloody jowl and bark
bullying the year.
Night is no more
than my love who lies
She dreams of a dream
lives, then dies.
Selve amiche, ombrose piante,
Fido albergo del mio core,
Chiede a voi quest'alma amante
Qualche pace al suo dolore.
Vriendelijke bossen, schaduwrijke planten
Trouw onderkomen van mijn hart,
Deze verliefde ziel vraagt van jullie
Een beetje rust van mijn smart.
Amarilli, mia bella,
Non credi, o del mio cor dolce desio,
D'esser tu l'amor mio?
Credilo pur: e se timor t'assale,
Dubitar non ti vale.
Aprimi il petto e vedrai scritto in core:
Amarilli, Amarilli, Amarailli
è il mio amore.
Amaryllis, mijn schoonheid,
Geloof jij niet, o zoet verlangen van mijn hart,
Dat jij mijn liefde bent?
Geloof het toch: en als je van angst bevangen wordt,
Twijfel niet aan jouw waarde.
Open mijn borst en zie in mijn hart geschreven:
Amaryllis, Amaryllis, Amaryllis,
Is mijn liefde.
Strike the Viol, touch the Lute;
Wake the Harp, inspire the Flute:
Sing your Patronesse's Praise,
Sing, in cheerful and harmonious Lays.
Music for a while
Shall all your cares beguile:
Wond'ring how your pains were eas'd
And disdaining to be pleas'd
Till Alecto free the dead
From their eternal bands,
Till the snakes drop from her head,
And the whip from out her hands.
"I have no name:
I am but two days old."
What shall I call thee?
"I happy am,
Joy is my name."
Sweet joy befall thee!
Sweet Joy, but two days old.
Sweet Joy I call thee:
Thou dost smile,
I sing the while,
Sweet joy befall thee!
I was angry with my friend:
I told my wrath, my wrath did end.
I was angry with my foe:
I told it not, my wrath did grow.
And I water'd it in fears,
Night & morning with my tears;
And I sunned it with smiles,
And with soft deceitful wiles.
And it grew both day and night,
Till it bore an apple bright.
And my foe beheld it shine,
And he knew that it was mine.
And into my garden stole
When the night had veil'd the pole,
In the morning glad I see
My foe outstretch'd beneath the tree.
Ah, Sun-flower! weary of time,
Who countest the steps of the Sun;
Seeking after that sweet golden clime,
Where the traveller's journey is done:
Where the Youth pined away with desire,
And the pale Virgin shrouded in snow,
Arise from their graves and aspire
Where my Sun-flower wishes to go.