Two Hymns to Love

Listen to:

Two Hymns to Love (1:04)

by Robert Herrick 

performed by Bob Gonzalez, rhapsode

A Short Hymn to Venus

Goddess, I do love a Girl

Ruby-lipp’d, and tooth’d with Pearl:

If so be, I may but prove

Lucky in the Maid I love:

I will promise there shall be

Myrtles offer’d up to Thee.

A Hymn to Venus and Cupid

Sea-born Goddess, let me be

By thy son thus grac'd, and thee;

That whene’er I woo, I find 

Virgins coy, but not unkind.

Let me, when I kiss a maid,

Taste her lips, so over-laid

With Love-syrup, that I may,

In your Temple, when I pray,

Kiss the Altar, and confess

There’s in love no bitterness.

Song on May Morning

Listen to:

Song on May Morning (:47)

by John Milton 

performed by Bob Gonzalez, rhapsode

Now the bright morning Star, Dayes harbinger,

  Comes dancing from the East, and leads with her

  The Flowry May, who from her green lap throws

The yellow Cowslip, and the pale Primrose.

  Hail bounteous May that dost inspire 

  Mirth and youth, and warm desire,

  Woods and Groves, are of thy dressing,

  Hill and Dale, doth boast thy blessing.

Thus we salute thee with our early Song,

And welcome thee, and wish thee long.  

Michael Robartes Remembers Forgotten Beauty

Listen to:

Michael Robartes Remembers Forgotten Beauty (1:24)

by William Butler Yeats 

performed by Bob Gonzalez, rhapsode

When my arms wrap you round I press

My heart upon the loveliness

That has long faded from the world;

The jewelled crowns that kings have hurled

In shadowy pools, when armies fled;

The love-tales wove with silken thread

By dreaming ladies upon cloth

That has made fat the murderous moth;

The roses that of old time were

Woven by ladies in their hair,

The dew-cold lilies ladies bore 

Through many a sacred corridor

Where such gray clouds of incense rose

That only the gods' eyes did not close:

For that pale breast and lingering hand

Come from a more dream-heavy land,

A more dream-heavy hour than this;

And when you sigh from kiss to kiss

I hear white Beauty sighing, too,

For hours when all must fade like dew

But flame on flame, deep under deep,

Throne over throne, where in half sleep

Their swords upon their iron knees

Brood her high lonely mysteries.

(from The Wind Among the Reeds)