Such a blush
In the midst of brown was born,
Like red poppies grown with corn.

Such a blush
In the midst of brown was born,
Like red poppies grown with corn.

'Tis not on youth's smooth cheek the blush alone, which fades so
fast,
But the tender bloom of read more

'Tis not on youth's smooth cheek the blush alone, which fades so
fast,
But the tender bloom of heart is gone, ere youth itself be past.

Innocence is not accustomed to blush.
[Fr., L'innocence a rougir n'est point accoutumee.]

Innocence is not accustomed to blush.
[Fr., L'innocence a rougir n'est point accoutumee.]

Once he saw a youth blushing, and addressed him, "Courage, my
boy; that is the complexion of virtue."

Once he saw a youth blushing, and addressed him, "Courage, my
boy; that is the complexion of virtue."

The blush is beautiful, but it is sometimes convenient.
[It., Bello e il rossore, ma e incommodo qualche volta.]

The blush is beautiful, but it is sometimes convenient.
[It., Bello e il rossore, ma e incommodo qualche volta.]

Blushed like the waves of hell.

Blushed like the waves of hell.

I have marked
A thousand blushing apparitions
To start into her face, a thousand innocent shames
read more

I have marked
A thousand blushing apparitions
To start into her face, a thousand innocent shames
In angel whiteness beat away those blushes,
And in her eye there hath appeared a fire
To burn the errors that these princes hold
Against her maiden truth.

Fit thy consent to my sharp appetite,
Lay by all nicety and prolixious blushes,
That banish what read more

Fit thy consent to my sharp appetite,
Lay by all nicety and prolixious blushes,
That banish what they sue for: redeem thy brother
By yielding up thy body to my will,
Or else he must not only die the death,
But thy unkindess shall his death draw out
To ling'ring sufferance.

Where now I have no one to blush with me,
To cross their arms and hang their heads with read more

Where now I have no one to blush with me,
To cross their arms and hang their heads with mine,
To mask their brows and hide their infamy;
But I alone, alone must sit and pine,
Seasoning the earth with show'rs of silver brine,
Mingling my talk with tears, my grief with groans,
Poor wasting monuments of lasting moans.