A Little Book of
Old Time Verse
Old-fashioned Flowers
Gathered by
Gladys Sidney Crouch
Published by
P. F. Volland Company
NEW YORK CHICAGO TORONTO
Copyright, 1917
P. F. Volland Company
Chicago
To My Father
That the verses in this little book will bring back sweet memories of the long ago to every reader, as they do to me, is the earnest wish of the humble gatherer of these old-fashioned flowers. G. S. C.
CHRONOLOGICAL INDEX OF AUTHORS
Sir Edward Dyer. (Born 1550—Died 1607.)
To Phyllis, the Fair Shepherdess
Sir Philip Sidney. (Born 1554—Died 1586.)
A Ditty
John Lyly. (Born 1554—Died 1606.)
Appelles' Song
Thomas Lodge. (Born 1556—Died 1625.)
Love's Wantonness
Thomas Campion. (Born (unknown)—Died 1619.)
Thrice toss these oaken ashes in the air
Come, O come, my life's delight
Robert Green. (Born 1560—Died 1592.)
Content
Christopher Marlowe. (Born 1562—Died 1593.)
The Passionate Shepherd to His Love
William Shakespeare. (Born 1564—Died 1616.)
O Mistress Mine, Where are you Roaming
Ben Jonson. (Born 1573—Died 1637.)
To Celia
John Donne. (Born 1573—Died 1631.)
Song
Francis Beaumont. (Born 1584—Died 1610.)
Fie on Love
George Wither. (Born 1588—Died 1667.)
The Author's Resolution in a Sonnet
Thomas Carew. (Born 1589—Died 1639.)
Song
A Fragment
Truce in Love Entreated
Phillida Flouts Me
Robert Herrick. (Born 1591—Died 1674.)
A Hymn to Love
To Anthea
To Daffodils
To Electra
To his Mistress
To his Mistress, Objecting to his Neither Toying nor Talking
To the Virgins, to make much of Time
Henry King. (Born 1592—Died 1669.)
On the Life of Man
Thomas Bateson. (Born 1600—Died (no record).)
Her hair the net of golden wire
Sir William D'Avenant. (Born 1605—Died 1668.)
The Lark now Leaves his Watr'y Nest
Edmund Waller. (Born 1605—Died 1687.)
Song: Go Lovely Rose
Song to Flavia
Sir John Suckling. (Born 1609—Died 1641.)
Why so pale and wan, fond lover
Song: O pr'y thee send me back my heart
The Constant Lover
Richard Lovelace. (Born 1618—Died 1658.)
To Althea, from Prison
To Lucasta, on going to the wars
Thomas Stanley. (Born 1625—Died 1678.)
Speaking and Kissing
Walter Porter. (Born (no record)—Died 1649.)
Love in thy youth, fair maid, be wise
George Granville (Lord Lansdowne). (Born 1668—Died 1735.)
Adieu L'Amour
William Congreve. (Born 1672—Died 1728.)
Song: Though she be false to me and love
John Oldmixon. (Born 1673—Died 1742.)
Song: I lately vowed but 'twas in haste
Dr. Isaac Watts. (Born 1674—Died 1748.)
Few Happy Matches
Aaron Hill. (Born 1684—Died 1749.)
Song: Gentle love, this hour befriend me
William Somerville. (Born 1692—Died 1742.)
Cupid Mistaken
Song: Hard is the fate of him who loves
To a discarded toast
Thomas Walker. (Born 1698—Died 1743.)
Sweet love, I will no more abuse thee
James Thomson. (Born 1700—Died 1748.)
Unless with my Amanda blest
George Lyttleton. (Born 1709—Died 1773.)
Song: When Delia on the plain appear
Edward Moore. (Born 1711—Died 1757.)
Song: How blest has my time been
John Wilke. (Born 1727—Died 1797.)
Love not me for comely grace
Robert Burns. (Born 1759—Died 1796.)
Delia
My Jean
Of A' the Airts the Wind Can Blaw
The Bonnie Wee Thing
Sir Walter Scott. (Born 1771—Died 1832.)
The Truth of Woman
Samuel Taylor Coleridge. (Born 1772—Died 1834.)
Names
Walter Savage Landor. (Born 1775—Died 1864.)
The Maid I love ne'er thought of me
William Stanley Roscoe. (Born 1782—Died 1841.)
To Spring: On the Banks of the Cam
Leigh Hunt. (Born 1784—Died 1859.)
Jenny Kissed Me
The Nun
Bryan Waller Proctor. (Born 1787—Died 1874.)
Hermione
George Gordon (Lord Byron). (Born 1788—Died 1824.)
There be none of Beauty's daughters
William Cullen-Bryant. (Born 1794—Died 1878.)
The Forest Maid
George Darley. (Born 1795—Died 1846.)
Love's Likeness
Hartley Coleridge. (Born 1796—Died 1849.)
Song: She is not fair to outward view
To a lofty beauty, from her poor kinsman
Time of Roses
Sir Henry Taylor. (Born 1800—Died 1886.)
Song: The bee to the heather
Ralph Waldo Emerson. (Born 1803—Died 1882.)
Days
James Clarence Mangan. (Born 1803—Died 1849.)
Advice against travel
Elizabeth Barrett Browning. (Born 1806—Died 1861.)
My Kate
Grief
John Greenleaf Whittier. (Born 1807—Died 1892.)
Memories
All's Well
Oliver Wendell Holmes. (Born 1809—Died 1894.)
There is no friend like an old friend
Robert Jones. (Born 1809—Died 1879.)
Once did my thoughts both ebb and flow
Alfred Tennyson. (Born 1809—Died 1892.)
Song from 'The Princess'
Edgar Allan Poe. (Born 1809—Died 1849.)
To Helen
Frances Anne Kemble. (Born 1809—Died 1893.)
Faith
John Stuart Blackie. (Born 1809—Died 1895.)
My Loves
Robert Browning. (Born 1812—Died 1889.)
Home-Thoughts from Abroad
Philip James Bailey. (Born 1816—Died 1902.)
My Lady
Henry David Thoreau. (Born 1817—Died 1862.)
Love
John Ruskin. (Born 1819—Died 1900.)
Trust thou thy love
Francis Turner Palgrave. (Born 1823—Died 1897.)
Eutopia
William Caldwell Roscoe. (Born 1823—Died 1859.)
Spiritual Love
George Meredith. (Born 1828—Died 1909.)
Lucifer in Starlight
Woman
Love in the Valley
Richard Garnett. (Born 1835—Died 1906.)
The Fair Circassian
Matilda Betham Edwards. (Born 1836.)
A Valentine
Christina Georgina Rossetti. (Born 1839—Died 1894.)
A Birthday
Remember
John Addington Symonds. (Born 1840—Died 1893.)
Farewell
Austin Dobson. (Born 1840.)
On a fan that belonged to the Marquis de Pompadour
A Rondeau to Ethel
Thomas Hardy. (Born 1840.)
The Darkling Thrush
Frederic William Henry Myers. (Born 1843—Died 1901.)
Evanescence
Robert Louis Stevenson. (Born 1850—Died 1894.)
Wishes
Romance
Francis William Bourdillon. (Born 1852.)
Edward Cracroft Lefroy. (Born 1855—Died 1891.)
Ageanax
A Summer in Old Sicily
Douglas Brook Wheelton Sladen. (Born 1856.)
Under the Wattle
William Sharp. (Born 1856—Died 1902.)
On a nightingale in April
Agnes Mary Frances Duclaux. (Born 1857.)
Then, when all the feasting's done
Arthur Symons. (Born 1865.)
Rain on the Down
William Butler Yeats. (Born 1865.)
Down by the Sally Gardens
When you are Old
Richard LeGallienne. (Born 1866.)
Song: She's somewhere in the sunlight strong
Alfred Noyes. (Born 1880.)
A Japanese Love Song
INDEX OF FIRST LINES
A beautiful and happy girl
Better trust all, and be deceived
Bid me to live, and I will live
Bonnie wee thing, cannie wee thing
Celia, confess, 'tis all in vain
Chicken skin, delicate, white
Choose me your Valentine
Come live with me, and be my love
Come, O come, my life's delight
Cupid and my Campaspe played
Daughters of Time, the hypocritic Days
Dear voyager, a lucky star be thine
Down by the sally gardens
Drink to me only with thine eyes
Fair daffodils, we weep to see
Fair maid, had I not heard thy baby cries
Fair the face of orient day
False though she be to me and love
Forty Viziers saw I go
Gather ye rosebuds while ye may
Gentle love, this hour befriend me
Gods, what a sun! I think the world's aglow
Go little book, and wish to all
Go, lovely rose
Hard is the fate of him who loves
Helen, thy beauty is to me
Here end my chains, and thraldom cease
Her hair, the net of golden wire
He that loves a rosy cheek
I asked my fair, one happy day
I dare not ask a kiss
If the quick spirits in your eye
If you become a nun, dear
I lately vowed, but 'twas in haste
I leant upon a coppice gate
I loved her for that she was beautiful
"In tea-cup times!" The style of dress
I pr'y thee send me back my heart
I see her in the dewy flowers
I saw, I saw the lovely child
I tell you, hopeless grief is passionless
It is buried and done with
It was not in the winter
I will confess with cheerfulness
I will make your brooches and toys for your delight
Jenny kissed me when we met
Like to the falling of the star
Love in thy youth, fair maid, be wise
Love guides the roses of thy lips
Love not me for comely grace
Maidens kilt your skirts and go
My heart is like a singing bird
My little pretty one
My Phyllis hath the morning sun
My true love hath my heart and I have his
Name the leaves on all the trees
Night and the down by the sea
No more blind god! for see, my heart
No show of bolts and bars
Now fie on foolish love, it not befits
Now sleeps the crimson petal, now the white
O fairest of the rural maids!
O mark yon Rose-tree! When the West
O, Mistress mine, where are you roaming
O, to be in England
Oh thou that from the green vales of the West
Oh, what a plague is love!
On a starr'd night. Prince Lucifer uprose
Once did my thoughts both ebb and flow
Out upon it, I have loved
Over the mountains
Remember me when I am gone away
Send home my long stray'd eyes to me
Shall I, wasting in despaire
She can be as wise as we
She is not fair to outward view
She's somewhere in the sunlight strong
She was not as pretty as women I know
Stone walls do not a prison make
Sweet are the thoughts that savour of content
Tell me not, sweet, I am unkind
The air which thy smooth voice doth break
The bee to the heather
The clouds, which rise with thunder, slake
The lark above our heads doth know
The lark now leaves his wat'ry nest
The Maid I love ne'er thought of me
The yellow moon is a dancing phantom
The young moon is white
There be none of beauty's daughters
There is a garden where lilies
There is no friend like an old friend
Though cruel fate should bid us part
Thou hast beauty bright and fair
Thrice toss these oaken ashes in the air
'Tis not your beauty can engage
Traverse not the globe for lore!
Trust thou thy Love: if she be proud, is she not sweet?
Under yonder beech-tree single on the green-sward
Unless with my Amanda blest
Venus whipt Cupid t'other day
Were the gray clouds not made
What care I tho' beauty fading
What shall I send my love today
When Delia on the plain appears
When love, with unconfined wings
When you are old and gray and full of sleep
Why should not the wattle do?
Why so pale and wan, fond lover?
Woman's faith, and woman's trust—
You say I love not, 'cause I do not play
A LITTLE BOOK OF OLD TIME VERSE
Love's Wantonness
Love guides the roses of thy lips,
And flies about them like a bee;
If I approach he forward skips,
And if I kiss he stingeth me.
Love in thine eyes doth build his bower,
And sleeps within their pretty shrine,
And if I look the boy will lower,
And from their orbs shoot shafts divine.
Song
Send home my long-stray'd eyes to me,
Which, O! too long have dwelt on thee:
But if from you they've learnt such ill,
To sweetly smile,
And then beguile,
Keep the deceivers, keep them still.
Send home my harmless heart again.
Which no unworthy thought could stain;
But if it has been taught by thine
To forfeit both
Its word and oath,
Keep it, for then 'tis none of mine.
—John Donne, D.D.
Fie on Love
Now fie on foolish love, it not befits
Or man or woman know it.
Love was not meant for people in their wits,
And they that fondly show it
Betray the straw, and features in their brain,
And shall have Bedlam for their pain:
If simple love be such a curse,
To marry is to make it ten times worse.
—Francis Beaumont
A Fragment
He that loves a rosy cheek,
Or a coral lip admires,
Or from star-like eyes doth seek
Fuel to maintain his fires;
As old Time makes these decay,
So his flames must waste away.
But a smooth and steadfast mind,
Gentle thoughts and calm desires,
Hearts with equal love combined,
Kindle never-dying fires;
Where these are not, I despise
Lovely cheeks, or lips, or eyes.
—Thomas Carew
Truce in Love Entreated
No more, blind god! for see, my heart
Is made thy quiver, there remains
No void place, for another dart;
And, alas! that conquest gains
Small praise, that only brings away
A tame and unresisting prey.
Behold a nobler foe, all arm'd,
Defies thy weak artillery,
That hath thy bow and quiver charm'd;
A rebel beauty, conquering thee:
If thou dar'st equal combat try,
Wound her, for 'tis for her I die.
—Thomas Carew
Jenny Kissed Me
Jenny kiss'd me when we met,
Jumping from the chair she sat in;
Time, you thief, who love to get
Sweets into your list, put that in!
Say I'm weary, say I'm sad,
Say that health and wealth have miss'd me,
Say I'm growing old, but add,
Jenny kiss'd me.
—Leigh Hunt
A Ditty
My true love hath my heart, and I have his,
By just exchange one for the other given:
I hold his dear, and mine he cannot miss,
There never was a better bargain driven:
My true love hath my heart, and I have his.
His heart in me, keeps him and me in one,
My heart in him, his thought and senses guides;
He loves my heart, for once it was his own,
I cherish his, because in me it bides:
My true love hath my heart, and I have his.
—Sir Phillip Sidney
To Electra
I dare not ask a kiss;
I dare not beg a smile;
Lest having that, or this,
I might grow proud the while.
No, no, the utmost share
Of my desire shall be,
Only to kiss that air
That lately kissed thee.
—Robert Herrick
To Phyllis, the Fair Shepherdess
My Phyllis hath the morning sun
At first to look upon her:
And Phyllis hath morn-waking birds
Her rising still to honour.
My Phyllis hath prime feathered flowers
That smile when she treads on them:
And Phyllis hath a gallant flock
That leaps since she doth own them.
But Phyllis hath too hard a heart,
Alas, that she should have it!
It yields no mercy to desert
Nor peace to those that crave it.
Sweet Sun, when thou look'st on,
Pray her regard my moan!
Sweet birds, when you sing to her.
To yield some pity woo her!
Sweet flowers, that she treads on,
Tell her, her beauty dreads one;
And if in life her love she'll not agree me.
Pray her before I die, she will come see me.
—Sir Edward Dyer
The Passionate Shepherd to His Love
Come live with me and be my love,
And we will all the pleasures prove
That valleys, groves, and hills, and fields,
Woods or steepy mountain yields.
And we will sit upon the rocks,
Seeing the shepherds feed their flocks
By shallow rivers, to whose falls
Melodious birds sing madrigals.
And I will 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'll pull;
Fair lined 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.
The shepherd swains shall dance and sing
For thy delight each May morning.
If these delights thy mind may move,
Come live with me and be my love.
—Christopher Marlowe
Content
Sweet are the thoughts that savour of content,
The quiet mind is richer than a crown,
Sweet are the nights in careless slumber spent,
The poor estate scorns fortune's angry frown;
Such sweet content, such minds, such sleep, such bliss,
Beggars enjoy, when princess oft do miss.
The homely house that harbours quiet rest,
The cottage that affords no pride nor care,
The mean that 'grees with country music best,
The sweet consort of mirth and modest fare,
Obscured life sets down a type of bliss;
A mind content both crown and kingdom is.
—Robert Greene
My Jean
Though cruel fate should bid us part,
Far as the pole and line,
Her dear idea round my heart
Should tenderly
Though mountains rise, and deserts howl,
And oceans roar between;
Yet, dearer than my deathless soul,
I still would love my Jean.
—Robert Burns
Sweet Love, I will no more abuse thee,
Nor with my voice accuse thee;
But tune my notes unto thy praise,
And tell the world Love ne'er decays.
Sweet Love doth concord ever cherish:
What wanteth concord soon must perish.
—Thomas Walker
To Celia
Drink to me only with thine eyes.
And I will pledge with mine;
Or leave a kiss but in the cup,
And I'll not look for wine.
The thirst that from the soul doth rise
Doth ask a drink divine;
But might I of Jove's nectar sup,
I would not change for thine.
I sent thee late a rosy wreath,
Not so much honouring thee
As giving it a hope that there
It could not withered be:
But thou thereon didst only breathe
And sent'st it back to me;
Since when it grows, and smells, I swear,
Not of itself, but thee!
—Ben Jonson
Love not me for comely grace,
For my pleasing eye or face,
Nor for any outward part:
No, nor for a constant heart!
For these may fail or turn to ill:
So thou and I shall sever.
Keep therefore a true woman's eye,
And love me still, but know not why!
So hast thou the same reason still
To dote upon me ever.
—John Wilkye
To His Mistress
Choose me your Valentine;
Next, let us marry;
Love to the death will pine
If we long tarry.
Promise and keep your vows.
Or vow ye never;
Love's doctrine disallows
Troth-breakers ever.
You have broke promise twice,
Dear, to undo me;
If you prove faithless thrice,
None then will woo ye.
—Robert Herrick
The Author's Resolution in a Sonnet
Shall I, wasting in despaire
Dye, because a woman's fair?
Or make pale my cheeks with care
Cause anothers Rosie are?
Be she fairer than the Day
Or the flowry Meads in May,
If she thinke not well of me,
What care I how faire she be?
Shall a woman's Vertues move
Me to perish for her love?
Or her well deservings knowne
Make me quite forget mine own?
Be she with that Goodness blest
Which may merit name of best:
If she be not such to me,
What care I how good she be?
Cause her fortunes seem too high
Shall I play the fool and die?
She that bears a Noble mind,
If not outward helpes she find,
Think that with them he wold do,
That without them dares her woe.
And unlesse that Minde I see
What care I how great she be?
Great, or Good, or Kind, or Faire,
I will ne're the more despaire:
If she love me (this believe)
I will Die ere she shall grieve,
If she slight me when I woe,
I can scorne and let her goe,
For if she be not for me
What care I for whom she be?
—George Wither