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.
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Pure friendship's well-feigned blush.
Pure friendship's well-feigned blush.
The rising blushes, which her cheek o'er-spread,
Are opening roses in the lily's bed.
The rising blushes, which her cheek o'er-spread,
Are opening roses in the lily's bed.
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.
'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.
From every blush that kindles in thy cheeks,
Ten thousand little loves and graces spring
To revel read more
From every blush that kindles in thy cheeks,
Ten thousand little loves and graces spring
To revel in the roses.
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.]
So sweet the blush of bashfulness,
E'en pity scarce can wish it less!
So sweet the blush of bashfulness,
E'en pity scarce can wish it less!
Girls blush, sometimes, because they are alive,
Half wishing they were dead to save the shame.
The read more
Girls blush, sometimes, because they are alive,
Half wishing they were dead to save the shame.
The sudden blush devours them, neck and brow;
They have drawn too near the fire of life, like gnats,
And flare up bodily, wings and all.
I ask, that I might waken reverence,
And bid the cheek be ready with a blush
Modest read more
I ask, that I might waken reverence,
And bid the cheek be ready with a blush
Modest as morning when she coldly eyes
The youthful Phoebus,
Which is that god in office, guiding men?
