http://ad.doubleclick.net/ad/N3285.msn_cusa/b23
http://m1.2mdn.net/viewad/1420759/3-1x/pixel.gif
http://view.atdmt.com/iview/msnnkhac00130x250
http://ad.doubleclick.net/adj/N3285.msn-dm/B17/
For the fair ballerina ...
To a Lady Who Presented to the
Author a Lock of Hair Braided With
His Own, and Appointed a Night in
December to Meet Him in a Garden
by
George Gordon, Lord Byron
These locks, which fondly thus entwine,
In firmer chains our hearts confine
Than all th' unmeaning protestations
Which swell with nonsense love orations.
Our love is fix'd, I think we've proved it,
Nor time, nor place, nor art have moved it;
Then wherefore should we sigh and whine,
With groundless jealousy repine,
With silly whims and fancies frantic,
Merely to make our love romantic?
Why should you weep like Lydia Languish,
And fret with self-created anguish?
Or doom the lover you have chosen,
On winter nights to sigh half frozen;
In leafless shades to sue for pardon,
Only because the scene's a garden?
For gardens seem, by one consent
(Since Shakespeare set the precedent,
Since Juliet first declared her passion),
To form the place of assignation.
Oh! would some modern muse inspire,
And seat her by a sea-coal fire;
Or had the bard at Christmas written,
And laid the scene of love in Britain,
He surely, in commiseration,
Had changed the place of declaration,
In Italy I've no objection,
Warm nights are proper for reflection;
But here our climate is so rigid,
That love itself is rather frigid:
Think on our silly situation,
And curb this rage for imitation.
Then let us meet, as oft we've done,
Beneath the influence of the sun;
Or, if at midnight I must meet you,
Within your mansion let me greet you:
There we can love for hours together,
Much better, in such snowy weather,
Than placed in all the Arcadian groves
That ever witness'd rural loves;
Then, if my passion fail to please,
Next night I'll give a loose to laughter,
But curse my fate for ever after.
For the gentle Portia,
Did not the heavenly rhetoric of thine eye ...
by William Shakespeare
Did not the heavenly rhetoric of thine eye,
'Gainst whom the world cannot hold argument,
Persuade my heart to this false perjury?
Vows for thee broke deserve not punishment.
A woman I forswore, but I will prove,
Thou being a goddess, I forswore not thee.
My vow was earthly, thou a heavenly love;
Thy grace being gained cures all disgrace in me.
Vows are but breath, and breath a vapor is.
Then thou, fair sun, which on my earth doth shine,
Exhales this vapor-vow; in thee it is.
If broken then, it is no fault of mine.
If by me broke, what fool is not so wise
To lose an oath to win a paradise?
No comments:
Post a Comment