Читать книгу Come Hither: A Collection of Rhymes and Poems for the Young of All Ages онлайн

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When I behold my swetyng swete,

Her face, her hands, her minion fete,

They seme to me there is none so mete,

As my swete swetyng.

Above all other prayse must I,

And love my pretty pygsnye,

For none I fynd so womanly

As my swete swetyng.

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Sweet Stay-at-Home, sweet Well-content,

Thou knowest of no strange continent:

Thou hast not felt thy bosom keep

A gentle motion with the deep;

Thou hast not sailed in Indian seas,

Where scent comes forth in every breeze.

Thou hast not seen the rich grape grow

For miles, as far as eyes can go;

Thou hast not seen a summer's night

When maids could sew by a worm's light;

Nor the North Sea in spring send out

Bright hues that like birds flit about

In solid cages of white ice—

Sweet Stay-at-Home, sweet Love-one-place.

Thou hast not seen black fingers pick

White cotton when the bloom is thick,

Nor heard black throats in harmony;

Nor hast thou sat on stones that lie

Flat on the earth, that once did rise

To hide proud kings from common eyes.