Friend and blogger Karen Chace submitted this classic of the season:
The Passionate Shepherd to His Love
Christopher Marlowe (1564-1593)
|painting by William Holman Hunt, 1827-1910) picture from wikipedia|
COME live with me and be my Love,
And we will all the pleasures prove
That hills and valleys, dale and field,
And all the craggy mountains yield.
There will we sit upon the rocks
And see the shepherds feed their flocks,
By shallow rivers, to whose falls
Melodious birds sing madrigals.
There will I make thee beds of roses
And a thousand fragrant posies,
A cap of flowers, and a kirtle
Embroider'd all with leaves of myrtle.
A gown made of the finest wool
Which from our pretty lambs we pull,
Fair linèd slippers for the cold,
With buckles of the purest gold.
A belt of straw and ivy buds
With coral clasps and amber studs:
And if these pleasures may thee move,
Come live with me and be my Love.
Thy silver dishes for thy meat
As precious as the gods do eat,
Shall on an ivory table be
Prepared each day for thee and me.
The shepherd swains shall dance and sing
For thy delight each May-morning:
If these delights thy mind may move,
Then live with me and be my Love.
His death was senseless--and argument, it is believed, over who was to pay the bill for the food and drink that he and several friends consumed during the day at a boarding house. What more might he have written if only he had been somewhere else on that day?
Let's end today with this anonymous short verse was suggested by my friend Kimberley in the Northwest, and the sentiments...how many of us have felt the same?
|Winslow Homer (1836-1910) Fog Warning|
O WESTERN wind, when wilt thou blow
That the small rain down can rain?
Christ, that my love were in my arms
And I in my bed again!
Copyright Susanna Holstein. All rights reserved. No Republication or Redistribution Allowed without attribution to Susanna Holstein.