October's child is born for woe,
And life's vicissitudes must know;
But lay on Opal on her read more

October's child is born for woe,
And life's vicissitudes must know;
But lay on Opal on her breast,
And hope will lull those woes to rest.

Nay, tarry a moment, my charming girl;
Here is a jewel of gold and pearl;
A beautiful read more

Nay, tarry a moment, my charming girl;
Here is a jewel of gold and pearl;
A beautiful cross it is I ween
As ever on beauty's breast was seen;
There's nothing at all but love to pay;
Take it and wear it, but only stay!
Ah! Sir Hunter, what excellent taste!
I'm not--in such--particular--haste.

Sweet April showers
Do bring May flowers.

Sweet April showers
Do bring May flowers.

The children with the streamlets sing,
When April stops at last her weeping;
And every happy growing read more

The children with the streamlets sing,
When April stops at last her weeping;
And every happy growing thing
Laughs like a babe just roused from sleeping.

Wear a Sardonyx or for thee
No conjugal felicity.
The August-born without this stone
read more

Wear a Sardonyx or for thee
No conjugal felicity.
The August-born without this stone
'Tis said must live unloved and lone.

Oh her white breast a sparkling cross she wore,
Which Jews might kiss and Infidels adore.

Oh her white breast a sparkling cross she wore,
Which Jews might kiss and Infidels adore.

A good wife is heaven's last, best gift to man, - his gem of many virtues, his casket of jewels; read more

A good wife is heaven's last, best gift to man, - his gem of many virtues, his casket of jewels; her voice is sweet music, her smiles his brightest day, her kiss the guardian of his innocence, her arms the pale of his safety...

Such comfort as do lusty young men feel
When well-apparelled April on the heel
Of limping Winter read more

Such comfort as do lusty young men feel
When well-apparelled April on the heel
Of limping Winter treads, even such delight
Among fresh fennel buds shall you this night
Inherit at my house.

From you have I been absent in the spring,
When proud-pied April, dressed in all his trim,
read more

From you have I been absent in the spring,
When proud-pied April, dressed in all his trim,
Hath put a spirit of youth in everything,
That heavy Saturn laughed and leapt with him;
Yet nor the lays of birds, not the sweet smell
Of different flowers in odor and in hue,
Could make me any summer's story tell,
Or from their proud lap pluck them where they grew:
Nor did I wonder at the lily's white,
Nor praise the deep vermilion in the rose;
They were but sweet, but figures of delight,
Drawn after you, you pattern of all those.
Yet seemed it winter still, and you away,
As with your shadow I with these did play.