Mundi et Cordis De Rebus Sempiternis et Temporariis: Carmina. Poems and Sonnets. By Thomas Wade |
I. |
II. |
III. |
IV. |
V. |
VI. |
VII. |
VIII. |
IX. |
X. |
XI. |
XII. |
XIII. |
XIV. |
XV. |
XVI. |
1. |
2. |
3. |
4. |
XVII. |
XVIII. |
XIX. |
XX. |
XXI. |
XXII. |
XXIII. |
XXIV. |
XXV. |
XXVI. |
XXVII. |
XXVIII. |
XXIX. |
XXX. |
XXXI. |
XXXII. |
XXXIII. |
XXXIV. |
XXXV. |
XXXVI. |
XXXVII. |
I. |
II. |
III. |
IV. |
V. |
VI. |
VII. |
VIII. |
IX. |
X. |
XI. |
XII. |
XIII. |
XIV. |
XV. |
XVI. |
XVII. |
XVIII. |
XIX. |
XX. |
XXI. |
XXII. |
XXIII. |
XXIV. |
XXV. |
XXVI. |
XXVII. |
XXVIII. |
XXIX. |
XXX. |
XXXI. |
XXXII. |
XXXIII. |
XXXIV. |
XXXV. |
XXXVI. |
XXXVII. |
XXXVIII. |
XXXIX. |
XL. |
XLI. |
I. |
II. |
III. |
IV. |
V. |
VI. |
VII. |
VIII. |
IX. |
X. |
XI. |
XII. |
XIII. |
XIV. |
XV. |
XVI. |
XVII. |
XVIII. |
XIX. | XIX.
A PLEA FOR ABSENCE. |
I. |
II. |
III. |
IV. |
V. |
VI. |
VII. |
VIII. |
IX. |
X. |
XI. |
XII. |
XIII. |
XIV. |
XV. |
XVI. |
XVII. |
XVIII. |
XIX. |
XX. |
XXI. |
XXII. |
XXIII. |
XXIV. |
XXV. |
XXVI. |
XXVII. |
XXVIII. |
XXIX. |
XXX. |
XXXI. |
XXXII. |
XXXIII. |
XXXIV. |
XXXV. |
XXXVI. |
XXXVII. |
XXXVIII. |
XXXIX. |
XL. |
XLI. |
XLII. |
XLIII. |
XLIV. |
XLV. |
XLVI. |
XLVII. |
XLVIII. |
XLIX. |
L. |
LI. |
LII. |
LIII. |
LIV. |
LV. |
LVI. |
LVII. |
LVIII. |
LIX. |
LX. |
LXI. |
LXII. |
LXIII. |
LXIV. |
I. |
II. |
III. |
1. |
2. |
3. |
4. |
5. |
6. |
IV. |
V. |
VI. |
VII. |
VIII. |
IX. |
Mundi et Cordis | ||
183
XIX. A PLEA FOR ABSENCE.
1
There is ice in my heart,There is fire in my brain:
Oh! let me depart,
Nor behold thee again!
2
Upbraid me not, Dearest!My destiny calls me;
Not the death which thou fearest,
But oblivion appals me:
3
I would wave with the bough,I would sing with the bird,
With the wild waters flow,
In the thunder be heard;
184
4
In the sunbeams flash bright'ning,With the flower shed perfume,
Blaze electric in lightning,
In the tempest be gloom:
5
I would breathe with the wind,With the stars be all-seeing;
I would live in the mind
And be part of its being!
6
Then must nothing molestThe proud flight I pursue;
I shut love from my breast,
Thy dear eyes from my view:
7
But when wrung with the toilOf the thought-weaving brain,
Round thy heart will I coil—
And ne'er leave thee again!
Mundi et Cordis | ||