Samuel Daniel

This recording is in the public domain.

Love Now for Rose's Fade By Samuel Daniel Read for LibriVox.org By Elaine Conway England Look, Delia, how we esteem The half-blown rose, The image of thy blush And summer's honour.

Whilst yet her tender bud doth undisclose, That full of beauty time bestows upon her, No sooner spreads her glory in the air, But straight her wide-blown pomp comes to decline.

She then is scorned, that late adorned the fair, So fade the roses of those cheeks of thine.

No April can revive thy withered flowers, Whose springing grace adorns thy glory now, swift speedy time feathered with flying hours dissolves the beauty of the fairest brow then do not thou such treasure waste in vain but love now whilst thou mayst be loved again early love by samuel daniel ah i remember well and how can i but evermore remember well when first our flame began when scarce we knew what was the flame we felt when as we sat and sighed and looked upon each other and conceived not what we ailed yet something we did ail and yet were well and yet we were not well and what was our disease we could not tell then would we kiss then sigh then look and thus in that first garden of our simpleness we spent our childhood but when the years began to reap the fruit of knowledge ah how then would she with graver looks with sweet stern brow check my

presumption

and my forwardness

And so, all the night-tide, I lie down by the side of my darling, my darling, my life and my bride, in her sepulchre there by the sea, in her tomb by the side of the sea.

another song by samuel daniel are they shadows that we see and can shadows pleasure give pleasures only shadows be cast by bodies we conceive and are made the things we deem in those figures which they seem but these pleasures vanish fast which by shadows are expressed pleasures are not if they last in their passing is their best Glory is most bright and gay In a flash, and so away.

Feed apace, then, greedy eyes, On the wonder you behold.

Take it sudden as it flies, Though you take it not to hold.

Men have brooded on sleep for centuries.

Samuel Daniel, in 1592, wrote, Sleep, son of the Sable Knight, brother to death, in silent darkness born.

Two hundred years later, Shelley wrote of death and his brother, sleep.

And in the next century, Tennyson called sleep death's twin brother.