A silly sylvan, kissing heav'n-born fire,
Scorched his lips for his so fond desire:
I, not so fond, but gaz'd whilst such fire burned,
And all my heart straight into flames was turned.
The sylvan justly suffer'd for his kiss,
His fire was stol'n and stol'n things go amiss;
But I, alas! unjstly for to have her,
Her heav'nly fire the gods and graces gave her.
(C) John Wilbye
03/08/2017
Best Poems of John Wilbye
- Happy, O Happy He
- The Lady Oriana
- Fly, Love, Aloft
- I Always Beg
- Thus Saith My Cloris Bright
- O Wretched Man!
- Ong Have I Made These Hills And Valleys Weary
- I Love, Alas! Yet Am Not Loved
- Ah! Cannot Sighs Not Tears
- What Needeth All This Travail?
- Thou Art But Young, Thou Say-st
- Dear Pity, How, Ah!
- A Silly Sylvan, Kissing Heavn-born Fire
- When Shall My Wretched Life
- Alas! What A Wretched Life Is This!
- As Matchless Beauty
- Away, Thou Shalt Not Love Me
- O Fools! Can You Not See
- There Is A Jewel
- I Sung Sometimes
- Lady, When I Behold The Roses Sprouting