Emotions and Feelings

This music crept by me upon the waters, Allaying both their fury, and my passion, With its sweet air.

This music crept by me upon the waters, Allaying both their fury, and my passion, With its sweet air.

Come unto these yellow sands, And then take hands: Curtsied when you have, and kiss’d— The wild waves whist,— Foot it featly here and there.

I [Ariel] will be correspondent to command, And do my spiriting gently.

You taught me language; and my profit on ’t Is, I know how to curse: the red plague rid you, For learning me your language!

Knowing I lov’d my books, he furnish’d me, From mine own library with volumes that I prize above my dukedom.

My library Was dukedom large enough.

I’ll queen it no inch further, But milk my ewes and weep.

Jog on, jog on, the footpath way, And merrily hent the stile-a: A merry heart goes all the day, Your sad tires in a mile-a.

Jog on, jog on, the footpath way, And merrily hent the stile-a: A merry heart goes all the day, Your sad tires in a mile-a.

What’s gone and what’s past help Should be past grief.

A sad tale’s best for winter. I have one of sprites and goblins.

Affection! thy intention stabs the center: Thou dost make possible things not so held, Communicat’st with dreams.

Affection! thy intention stabs the center: Thou dost make possible things not so held, Communicat’st with dreams.

Past cure I am, now Reason is past care, And frantic-mad with evermore unrest.

Past cure I am, now Reason is past care, And frantic-mad with evermore unrest.

Two loves I have of comfort and despair, Which like two spirits do suggest me still.

’Tis better to be vile than vile esteem’d, When not to be receives reproach of being.

What potions have I drunk of Siren tears, Distill’d from limbecks foul as hell within.

Alas! ’tis true I have gone here and there, And made myself a motley to the view, Gor’d mine own thoughts, sold cheap what is most dear, Made old offenses of affections new.

O! never say that I was false of heart, Though absence seem’d my flame to qualify.

Not mine own fears, nor the prophetic soul Of the wide world dreaming on things to come, Can yet the lease of my true love control, Suppos’d as forfeit to a confin’d doom. The mortal moon hath her eclipse endur’d, And the sad augurs mock their own presage; Incertainties now crown themselves assur’d, And peace proclaims olives of endless age.

They that have power to hurt and will do none, That do not do the thing they most do show, Who, moving others, are themselves as stone, Unmoved, cold, and to temptation slow.

Ah! do not, when my heart hath ’scap’d this sorrow, Come in the rearward of a conquer’d woe; Give not a windy night a rainy morrow, To linger out a purpos’d overthrow.