John Henry Dryden: Все стихи поэта

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Hidden Flame

I FEED a flame within, which so torments me

That it both pains my heart, and yet contents me:

'Tis such a pleasing smart, and I so love it,

That I had rather die than once remove it.

Yet he, for whom I grieve, shall never know it;

My tongue does not betray, nor my eyes show it.

Not a sigh, nor a tear, my pain discloses,

But they fall silently, like dew on roses.

by John Henry Dryden

Song From An Evening's Love

After the pangs of a desperate lover,

When day and night I have sighed all in vain,

Ah, what a pleasure it is to discover

In her eyes pity, who causes my pain!

When with unkindness our love at a stand is,

And both have punished ourselves with the pain,

Ah, what a pleasure the touch of her hand is!

Ah, what a pleasure to touch it again!

by John Henry Dryden

A Song for St Cecilia's Day, 1687

From harmony, from heavenly harmony,

This universal frame began:

When nature underneath a heap

Of jarring atoms lay,

And could not heave her head,

The tuneful voice was heard from high,

'Arise, ye more than dead!'

Then cold, and hot, and moist, and dry,

by John Henry Dryden

Song (Sylvia The Fair, In The Bloom Of Fifteen)

Sylvia the fair, in the bloom of fifteen,

Felt an innocent warmth as she lay on the green:

She had heard of a pleasure, and something she guessed

By the towsing and tumbling and touching her breast:

She saw the men eager, but was at a loss

What they meant by their sighing and kissing so close;

By their praying and whining,

And clasping and twining,

by John Henry Dryden

Theodore And Honoria From Boccace

Of all the cities in Romanian lands,

The chief and most renowned Ravenna stands;

Adorned in ancient times with arms and arts,

And rich inhabitants with generous hearts.

But Theodore the brave, above the rest,

With gifts of fortune and of nature blessed,

The foremost place for wealth and honour held,

And all in feats of chivalry excelled.

by John Henry Dryden

Alexander's Feast; Or, The Power Of Music

'Twas at the royal feast for Persia won

By Philip's warlike son—

Aloft in awful state

The godlike hero sate

On his imperial throne;

His valiant peers were placed around,

Their brows with roses and with myrtles bound

(So should desert in arms be crowned);

by John Henry Dryden

Mankind

Men are but children of a larger growth;

Our appetites are apt to change as theirs,

And full as craving too, and full as vain;

And yet the soul, shut up in her dark room,

Viewing so clear abroad, at home sees nothing;

But, like a mole in earth, busy and blind,

Works all her folly up, and casts it outward

To the world's open view.

by John Henry Dryden

Calm was the even, and clear was the sky

Calm was the even, and clear was the sky,

And the new budding flowers did spring,

When all alone went Amyntas and I

To hear the sweet nightingale sing;

I sate, and he laid him down by me;

But scarcely his breath he could draw;

For when with a fear, he began to draw near,

He was dash'd with A ha ha ha ha!

by John Henry Dryden

Absalom and Achitophel

In pious times, e'er Priest-craft did begin,

Before Polygamy was made a sin;

When man, on many, multiply'd his kind,

E'r one to one was, cursedly, confind:

When Nature prompted, and no law deny'd

Promiscuous use of Concubine and Bride;

Then, Israel's monarch, after Heaven's own heart,

His vigorous warmth did, variously, impart

by John Henry Dryden

A Song Fair, Sweet And Young, Receive A Prize

Fair, sweet, and young, receive a prize

Reserved for your victorious eyes:

From crowds, whom at your feet you see,

O pity, and distinguish me!

As I from thousand beauties more

Distinguish you, and only you adore.

by John Henry Dryden

Annus Mirabilis, The Year Of Wonders, 1666

In thriving arts long time had Holland grown,

Crouching at home and cruel when abroad:

Scarce leaving us the means to claim our own;

Our King they courted, and our merchants awed.

Trade, which, like blood, should circularly flow,

Stopp'd in their channels, found its freedom lost:

by John Henry Dryden

Heroic Stanzas

And now 'tis time; for their officious haste,

Who would before have borne him to the sky,

Like eager Romans ere all rites were past

Did let too soon the sacred eagle fly.

Though our best notes are treason to his fame

Join'd with the loud applause of public voice;

by John Henry Dryden