A Nocturnall Upon St. Lucies Day
Being the Shortest Day

TIS the yeares midnight, and it is the dayes,
Lucies, who scarce seaven houres herself unmaskes,
The Sunne is spent, and now his flasks
Send forth light squibs, no constant rayes;
The worlds whole sap is sunke:
The generall balme th' hydroptique earth hath drunk,
Whither, as to the beds-feet, life is shrunk,
Dead and enterr'd; yet all these seem to laugh,
Compar'd with mee, who am their Epitaph.

Study me then, you who shall lovers bee
At the next world, that is, at the next Spring:
For I am every dead thing,
In whom love wrought new Alchimie.
For his art did expresse
A quintessence even from nothingnesse,
From dull privations, and leane emptinesse:
He ruin'd mee, and I am re-begot
Of absence, darknesse, death; things which are not.

All others, from all things, draw all that's good,
Life, soule, forme, spirit, whence they beeing have;
I, by loves limbecke, am the grave
Of all, that's nothing. Oft a flood
Have wee two wept, and so
Drownd the whole world, us two; oft did we grow
To be two Chaosses, when we did show
Care to ought else; and often absences
Withdrew our soules, and made us carcasses.

But I am by her death, (which word wrongs her)
Of the first nothing, the Elixer grown;
Were I a man, that I were one,
I needs must know; I should preferre,
If I were any beast,
Some ends, some means; Yea plants, yea stones detest,
And love; All, all some properties invest;
If I an ordinary nothing were,
As shadow, a light, and body must be here.

But I am None; nor will my Sunne renew.
You lovers, for whose sake, the lesser Sunne
At this time to the Goat is runne
To fetch new lust, and give it you,
Enjoy your summer all;
Since shee enjoyes her long nights festivall,
Let mee prepare towards her, and let mee call
This houre her Vigill, and her Eve, since this
Bothe the yeares, and the dayes deep midnight is.

Love's Alchemy

SOME that have deeper digg'd love's mine than I,
Say, where his centric happiness doth lie;
    I have lov'd, and got, and told,
But should I love, get, tell, till I were old,
I should not find that hidden mystery.
    Oh, 'tis imposture all!
And as no chemic yet th'elixir got,
    But glorifies his pregnant pot
    If by the way to him befall
Some odoriferous thing, or medicinal,
    So, lovers dream a rich and long delight,
    But get a winter-seeming summer's night.

Our ease, our thrift, our honour, and our day,
Shall we for this vain bubble's shadow pay?
    Ends love in this, that my man
Can be as happy'as I can, if he can
Endure the short scorn of a bridegroom's play?
    That loving wretch that swears
'Tis not the bodies marry, but the minds,
    Which he in her angelic finds,
    Would swear as justly that he hears,
In that day's rude hoarse minstrelsy, the spheres.
    Hope not for mind in women; at their best
    Sweetness and wit, they'are but mummy, possess'd.

A Lecture upon the Shadow

STAND still, and I will read to thee
A lecture, love, in love's philosophy.
These three hours that we have spent,
Walking here, two shadows went
Along with us, which we ourselves produc'd.
But, now the sun is just above our head,
We do those shadows tread,
And to brave clearness all things are reduc'd.
So whilst our infant loves did grow,
Disguises did, and shadows, flow
From us, and our cares; but now 'tis not so.
That love has not attain'd the high'st degree,
Which is still diligent lest others see.

Except our loves at this noon stay,
We shall new shadows make the other way.
As the first were made to blind
Others, these which come behind
Will work upon ourselves, and blind our eyes.
If our loves faint, and westwardly decline,
To me thou, falsely, thine,
And I to thee mine actions shall disguise.
The morning shadows wear away,
But these grow longer all the day;
But oh, love's day is short, if love decay.
Love is a growing, or full constant light,
And his first minute, after noon, is night.

A Valediction: of Weeping

LET me pour forth
My tears before thy face, whil'st I stay here,
For thy face coins them, and thy stamp they bear,
And by this Mintage they are something worth,
For thus they be
Pregnant of thee;
Fruits of much grief they are, emblems of more,
When a tear falls, that thou falls which it bore,
So thou and I are nothing then, when on a divers shore.
On a round ball
A workman that hath copies by, can lay
An Europe, Afrique, and an Asia,
And quickly make that, which was nothing, All,
So doth each tear,
Which thee doth wear,
A globe, yea world by that impression grow,
Till thy tears mixt with mine do overflow
This world, by waters sent from thee, my heaven dissolved so.
O more than Moon,
Draw not up seas to drown me in thy sphere,
Weep me not dead, in thine arms, but forbear
To teach the sea, what it may do too soon;
Let not the wind
Example find,
To do me more harm, than it purposeth;
Since thou and I sigh one another's breath,
Who e'r sighs most, is cruellest, and hastes the other's death.

Song

GO and catch a falling star,
Get with child a mandrake root,
Tell me where all past years are,
Or who cleft the devils foot;
Teach me to hear mermaids singing,
Or to keep off envy's stinging,
And find
What wind
Serves to advance an honest mind.

If thou be'st born to strange sights,
Things invisible to see,
Ride ten thousand days and nights
Till Age snow white hairs on thee;

Thou, when thou return'st wilt tell me
All strange wonders that befell thee,
And swear
No where
Lives a woman true and fair.

If thou find'st one let me know;
Such a pilgrimage were sweet.
Yet do not; I would not go,
Though at next door we might meet.

Though she were true when you met her,
And last, till you write your letter,
Yet she
Will be
False, ere I come, to two or three.

A Wreath

A WREATHED garland of deserved praise,
Of praise deserved, unto thee I give,
I give to thee, who knowest all my ways,
My crooked winding ways, wherein I live,
Wherein I die, not live: for life is straight,
Straight as a line, and ever tends to thee,
To thee, who art more far above deceit,
Than deceit seems above simplicity.
Give me simplicity, that I may live,
So live and like, that I may know thy ways,
Know them and practice them: then I shall give
For this poor wreath, give thee a crown of praise.

The Flower

      HOW fresh, O Lord, how sweet and clean
Are thy returns! ev'n as the flowers in spring;
      To which, besides their own demean,
The late-past frosts tributes of pleasures bring.
                   Grief melts away
                   Like snow in May,
      As if there were no such cold thing.

      Who would have thought my shrivl'd heart
Could have recover'd greenness? It was gone
      Quite under ground; as flowers depart
To see their mother-root, when they have blown;
                   Where they together
                   All the hard weather
      Dead to the world, keep house unknown.

      These are thy wonders, Lord of power,
Killing and quickning, bringing down to hell
      And up to heaven in an hour;
Making a chiming of a passing-bell.
                   We say amiss,
                   This or that is:
      Thy word is all, if we could spell.

      O that I once past changing were,
Fast in thy Paradise, where no flower can wither!
      Many a spring I shoot up fair,
Off'ring at heav'n, growing and groaning thither:
                   Nor doth my flower
                   Want a spring-shower,
      My sins and I joining together:

      But while I grow in a straight line,
Still upwards bent, as if heav'n were mine own,
      Thy anger comes, and I decline:
What frost to that? what pole is not the zone,
                   Where all things burn,
                   When thou dost turn,
      And the least frown of thine is shown?

      And now in age I bud again,
After so many deaths I live and write;
      I once more smell the dew and rain,
And relish versing: O my only light,
                   It cannot be
                   That I am her
      On whom thy tempests fell all night.

      These are thy wonders, Lord of love,
To make us see we are but flowers that glide:
      Which when we once can find and prove,
Thou hast a garden for us, where to bide.
                   Who would be more,
                   Swelling through store,
      Forfeit their Paradise by their pride

The Pulley

    WHEN God at first made man,
Having a glass of blesings standing by;
Let us (said he) pour on him all we can:
Let the world's riches, which dispersed lie,
    Contract into a span.

    So strength first made a way;
The beauty flow'd, then wisdom, honour, pleasure:
When almost all was out, God made a stay,
Perceiving that alone of all his treasure
    Rest in the bottom lay.

    For if I should (said he)
Bestow this jewel also on my creature,
He would adore my gifts instead of me,
And rest in Nature, not the God of Nature:
    So both should losers be.

    Yet let him keep the rest,
But keep them with repining restlessness:
Let him be rish and weary, that at least,
If goodness lead him not, yet weariness
    May toss him to my breast.

The Collar

      I STRUCK the board, and cried, No more.
                   I will abroad.
      What? shall I ever sigh and pine?
My lines and life are free; free as the road,
      Loose as the wind, as large as store.
             Shall I be still in suit?
      Have I no harvest but a thorn
      To let me blood, and not restore
What I have lost with cordial fruit?
                   Sure there was wine
Before my sighs did dry it: there was corn
             Before my tears did drown it.
      Is the year only lost to me?
             Have I no bays to crown it?
No flowers, no garlands gay? all blasted?
                   All wasted?
      No so, my heart: but there is fruit,
                   And thou hast hands.
                   Recover all thy sigh-blown age
On double pleasures: leave thy cold dispute
Of what is fit, and not forsake thy cage,
                   Thy rope of sands,
Which petty thoughts have made, and made to thee
Good cable, to enforce and draw,
                   And be thy law,
While thou didst wink and wouldst not see.
                   Away; take heed:
                   I will abroad.
Call in thy death's head there: tie up thy fears.
                   He that forbears
              To suit and serve his need,
                   Deserves his load.
But as I rav'd and grew more fierce and wild
                   At every word,
Me thoughts I heard one calling, Child:
                   And I reply'd, My Lord.

A Melody by Scarlatti

HOW clear under the trees,
How softly the music flows,
Rippling from one still pool to another
Into the lake of silence.

Doors of the Temple
MANY are the doors of the spirit that lead

Into the inmost shrine:
And I count the gates of the temple divine,
Since the god of the place is God indeed.
And these are the gates that God decreed
Should lead to His house:-- kisses and wine,
Cool depths of thought, youth without rest,
And calm old age, prayer and desire,
The Lover's and mother's breast,
The fire of sense and the poet's fire.

But he that worships the gates alone,
Forgetting the shrine beyond, shall see
The great valves open suddenly,
Revealing, not God's radiant throne,
But the fires of wrath and agony.

Amazing Grace

AMAZING grace! How sweet the sound
That saved a wretch like me.
I once was lost, but now am found,
Was blind, but now I see.

'Twas grace that taught my heart to fear,
And grace my fears relieved.
How precious did that grace appear
The hour I first believed.

Through many dangers, toils and snares
I have already come;
'Tis grace hath brought me safe thus far
And grace will lead me home.

The Lord has promised good to me
His word my hope secures;
He will my shield and portion be,
As long as life endures.

Yea, when this flesh and heart shall fail,
And mortal life shall cease,
I shall possess within the veil,
A life of joy and peace.

thanxxx

great work

muje to abhi tak pehla bhi nahi howa

kiran said:

mera TV kharaab ho gaya hai mughey bhi eik chahiye

Mujrim said:

LG TV ki production start hogayee

ek fault hai is mei

iska brain kamzor hai infact hai hee nai

LOL!!!, LG ki inni besti

LG ko brain ki kia zaroroat!, wo aik anokhi cheez hogi

hmm! ajj sab ghaib hain

okiez

kiran said:

I hate himesha reshamya but his music is Good and the girl is cute.

awww, you hate himash

that's good!

NB, kahan hain app???

inna lamba appka tour ho gaya?

kiran..

how are you dear?

shahrukh khan said:

London_Girl said:

ATIQA ODHU has turned buddhiii noww

janubaba rockz!

kabhi na kabhi tu hogie na

wo to hae

sweetie said:

London_Girl said:

ATIQA ODHU has turned buddhiii noww

janubaba rockz!

well yeh she's budhi but she doesnt luk budhi tho.. she's kept herself very fit n active.. she has young children as well.. two girls if im not mistaken.. and is running two businesses as well as acting.. not bad eh.

kewl!..
but still

korma wid chapati

kisne app per shak kia, SK

Ayesha said:

kion k woh larkiyan hoti hayn ...lol

sweetie said:

London_Girl said:

love marriage
but should be agreed from parents - which I call to be an arranged too!..

absolutely riteeee

wow!.. it looks awsome