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I can tell you how it rains on a summer day and make you feel it fall on your window pane-- I--your woman, a poet--have such powers. I can write for you alone, on a wordless universe and make you feel my god, to whom I can belong more than once-- I -- your woman , a poet -- can make you immortal with a song. But rather restore it mannerly, Since that I do ask it thus honestly ; For to lose it, it sitteth me too near; Help me to seek. Alas and is there no remedy? But have I thus lost it wilfully?

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I wis it was a thing all too dear To be bestowed, and wist not where : It was mine heart, I pray you heartily Help me to seek. Come live with me and be my love, And we will all the pleasures prove That hills and valleys, dales and fields, Or woods or steepy mountain yields. And we will sit upon the rocks, And see 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 Embroidered all with leaves of myrtle.

Men of Air

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, Then live with me and be my love. O Mistress mine, where are you roaming? What is love? From Twelfth Night Act 2 Scene 3. Steadfast of thought, Well made, well wrought, Far may be sought Ere that ye can find So courteous, so kind As merry Margaret, This midsummer flower, Gentle as falcon Or hawk of the tower.

Whenas in silks my Julia goes, Then, then, methinks, how sweetly flows The liquefaction of her clothes! Next, when I cast mine eyes and see That brave vibration each way free Oh how that glittering taketh me. Why I tie about thy wrist, Julia, this silken twist, For what other reason is't But to show thee how, in part, Thou my pretty captive art?

But thy bond slave is my heart. Love makes those young whom age doth chill, And whom he finds young keeps young still. The Blessed, that immortal be, From change in love are only free. Were it not madness to deny To live because we're sure to die? O Rose Adair! O lovely Rose Adair. Give all to love; Obey thy heart; Friends, kindred, days, Estate, good fame, Plans, credit, and the Muse - Nothing refuse.

Follow it utterly, Hope beyond hope. High and more high, It dives into noon, With wings unspent, Untold intent. But it is a god, Knows its own path And the outlets of the sky.

SPECTATOR, No 291.

It was never for the mean, It requireth courage stout, Souls above doubt, Valour unbending, Such 'twill reward: They will return More than they were, And ever ascending. Leave all for love: Yet hear me yet, One word more thy heart behoved, One pulse more of firm endeavour: Keep thee today, Tomorrow, for ever, Free as an Arab Of thy beloved. Cling with life to the maid, But when the surprise First vague shadow of surmise Flits across her bosom young, Of a joy apart from thee, Free be she, fancy free; Nor thou detain her vesture's hem.

Nor the palest rose she flung From her summer diadem. Though thou loved her as thyself, As a self of purer clay; Though her parting dims the day, Stealing grace from all alive, Heartily know, When half-gods go The gods arrive. I am here Inezilda, I am her 'neath your room.

All wrapped is Sevilla In mists and in gloom. With my cloak close around me, And more bolder than doom, My guitar and my bright sword Shine out 'neath your room. Do you sleep? With my songs I will sing you awake. If the old man should stumble here, Then my rapier I'll slake. These soft silken nooses To your balcony tie. Why delay, why be clumsy - Is a rival nearby? All shrouded is Sevilla In mists and in gloom.

How do I love thee? Let me count the ways. I love thee to the depth and breadth and height My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight For the ends of Being and ideal Grace. I love thee freely, as men strive for right; I love thee purely, as they turn from praise. If seas were infinite, my love would be Yet greater still and more profound; If roads led to eternity Even there it would be found.

Stars, sunshine, the night, the day Are images of something better, But words, thoughts, fire, water and clay Can never my true love fetter. Laugh then, and be yourself, but give Me, my dear sweet, one kiss - The gods that on Olympus live Have never known such bliss. I love you so, I know it's madness, I know it's toil and shameful vanity, I know its vast stupidity, But here at your knees I must confess. It does not suit my looks or years, It's more than time I should be wise, But by all the signs I recognise The pain of love, its sighs and tears.

Without you, I am lost, I yawn, When you are near I'm melancholy, I want to speak, the words are gone, My angel, you are all that's holy! When from the hall I hear the sound Of your soft footstep, or your dress, Or your sweet voice's innocence, My heart crumbles, I am all a mess. If you should smile - it's heaven for me, You turn away - it seems eternity; In days of sadness, the only solace, Is your pale hand, or your sweet face.


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When at the sewing frame you sit Diligently bending over it, Your hair and eyelids lowering, Then in amazement I sit wondering, Tenderly, silently, like a child. Should I then tell you of my grief? What use to you would be my talk, My jealous love, my awkwardness, When, on a clouded day, you dress To take a stroll or lengthy walk?

Your tears when all alone you stray, Or sometimes when we talk together, Your journeys out in wind and weather, At the piano when you sit and play, I love it all. Alina dearest, Have pity on me, sweet, I pray, I dare not ask for love, I may not, Perhaps I am not worthy of it, My angel, for my sins forbid it. At least pretend! For your glance so holy Always could wondrously prove love.

Deceive me then, by the heavens above I yearn for it, I die, your look alone will save me. There is a Lady sweet and kind, Was never face so pleased my mind, I did but see her passing by And yet I love her till I die. Her gesture, motion and her smiles, Her wit, her voice my heart beguiles, Beguiles my heart I know not why, And yet I love her till I die.

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.


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  8. Will I still write with you around? Of course. Just now I wrote: "Love is a passive thing. Love cannot be contained. Resort to force, it vanishes, sucked inwards to its source; dodges, watching and wary; or takes wing, soars out of reach. Once I tried arguing with it - and won - then choked on thick remorse. You've got more sense! In love you seem to glide, find airy pathways no-one else has tried, while both your feet stay firmly on the ground. In love you're flesh and blood and yet your eyes, the movements of your head, tell otherwise. That's why I can - must - write with you around.

    There was a time when sad was sad, elation was elation: feelings needed neither defending, warding off, nor explanation. Today we know it's all down to the weather. This sunshine's why you feel this way today about a neighbour you've known all this while. Format: Kindle Edition Verified Purchase. Well written and gives the feeling of seeing it for yourself..

    The apparent amateurishness of the military leadership at the time. Old fashioned leadership facing a new mechanized warfare with no clue and the ability to treat soldiers as cannon fodder. The ending is disappointing. A probable sequel to come. This book is beautifully written. The descriptive narrative makes you feel a real part of the historical scene. A poignant story of one man's struggle through the horrors of warfare.

    A very evocative tale of how the war in the air in WW1 turned so quickly from 'gentleman's agreement' to 'by any means necessary', while considering the human costs, both mental and physical. Period and social detail, multi-dimensional characters even the minor ones and the descriptions of the planes themselves make this book a good read. Roll on the next one! Good read. Riveting book, just couldn't put it down.

    Eagerly awaiting a sequel. What a wonderful story. You can feel the tension these people must have had. I bought this book on recommendation with no prior knowledge of the subject or author and have been griped by it. Wings of contrition is a refreshing break from the formulaic novels that I generally seem to stumble on, it is a robustly researched and stylishly crafted tale of friendship, bravery and betrayal set against a backdrop of the First World War. The author inspires genuine empathy in his lead character and supplies a fantastic supporting cast to allow the reader to become immersed in the drama, politics and action that accompanied the earliest incarnation of aerial warfare.

    I hope that given the position that the author leaves the action that there will be a second book to allow me to share what happens next. This is the kind of book that you just don't want to put down. A beautifully written book focusing on a lesser known area of World War 1 - that of life as a pilot.

    I found the story absorbing with excellent descriptive prose. The realities of war and the effect it has on the optimism of youth was heartbreaking and yet I couldn't put the book down.

    Wings of Contrition (Doomed Youth Book 1) (English Edition) - eBooks em Inglês na izuxomym.tk

    All in all, a thoroughly good read and I'm hopeful the story will be continued. Need customer service? Click here. Unlimited One-Day Delivery and more. There's a problem loading this menu at the moment. Learn more about Amazon Prime. Back to top. Get to Know Us. Amazon Music Stream millions of songs.