 | Poems (1983) |  |
[Lying upon the beach]
[1]
Lying upon the beach,Beelow mee on the sands,
I saw within small reach
A lady ly in bands,
With armes across, and hands
Infolded in thos twines,
207
And for loves triumph stands,
2
Alas, cride she, can loveBeequeath mee noe small space
Wher I may live, and love
Butt run in ruins race?
Nor yett to gaine deaths trace,
You locks of his owne haire,
Wittnes I still you beare
In my harts deerest place,
3
Butt O faulse is his hart,Yett faithfull is his haire,
Dead is his love, a pretty art
If wee thes two compare.
Haire once cutt off hath share
With death, loves lyfe beeing fled,
To shaddow haire is fled,
Soe are my joys to care.
4
Unconstant man, yett deereBeehold thy haire outlive
Thy faith, thy worthe, and cleere
As thine eyes, which did drive
Wrack to my hart, take back
Thes reliques, lay the rack
On shriveld harts, and cry
Haire outlives Constancy.
| Poems (1983) | |