Line 133.
Or sweetest Shakespeare, Fancy's child,
Warble his native wood-notes wild.
Line 136.
Lap me in soft Lydian airs,
Married to immortal verse,
Such as the meeting soul may pierce
In notes, with many a winding bout
Of linked sweetness long drawn out.
* * * * *
IL PENSEROSO.
Line 39.
And looks commercing with the skies,
Thy rapt soul sitting in thine eyes.
Line 61.
Sweet bird, that shunn'st the noise of folly,
Most musical, most melancholy!
Line 106.
Such notes, as, warbled to the string,
Drew iron tears down Pluto's cheek.
Line 120.
Where more is meant than meets the ear.
Line 159.
And storied windows richly dight,
Casting a dim, religious light.
* * * * *
_Sonnet to the Lady Margaret Ley_.
That old man eloquent.
* * * * *
_Sonnet on his Blindness_.
They also serve who only stand and wait.
* * * * *
_Second Sonnet to Cyriac Skinner_.
Yet I argue not
Against Heaven's hand or will, nor bate a jot
Of heart or hope; but still bear up and steer
Right onward.
* * * * *
_Sonnet on his Deceased Wife_.
But oh! as to embrace me she inclined,
I waked; she fled; and day brought back my night.
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