Love; poetry style…

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Christopher Marlowe wrote his poem a long time ago. Love, courting, and romance etc has changed a lot since then. Yet somehow such love can still be found depicted in a Bollywood movie (and probably a few Georgian ones as well!); just take a few random samples of the dance scenes and most likely the couple will be running in a meadow or dancing on a mountaintop! Although I do not do such things personally, I have always thought of this poem when relating a poem to my relationship with my husband. Perhaps, because all we had was the world itself and each other. Things seemed as simple as the poem below. I am dedicating this post to one of my favourite poems…on the topic of love!

The Passionate Shepherd to his Love by Christopher Marlowe

Come live with me and be my love,
And we will all the pleasures prove
That hills and valleys, dale and field,
And all the craggy mountains yield.

There will we sit upon the rocks,
And see the shepherds feed their flocks,
By shallow rivers to whose falls
Melodious birds sing madrigals.

There I will make thee beds of roses
And a thousand fragrant posies,
A cap of flowers, and a kirtle
Embroider’d all with leaves of myrtle;

A gown made of the finest wool
Which from our pretty lambs we pull;
Fair linèd slippers for the cold,
With buckles of the purest gold;

A belt of straw and ivy buds,
With coral clasps and amber studs;
And if these pleasures may thee move,
Come live with me, and be my love.

Thy silver dishes for thy meat
As precious as the gods do eat,
Shall on an ivory table be
Prepared each day for thee and me.

The shepherd swains shall dance and sing
For thy delight each May-morning:
If these delights thy mind may move,
Then live with me and be my love.

Very sweet and romantic, isn’t it? Come live with me and be my love…such great flow to that! Naturally, to keep it interesting and fair, I have to include a witty poem that is a spin off of this one. The nymph is clearly a realist and definitely has more than a few valid points!

The Nymph’s Reply to the Shepherd by Sir Walter Raleigh

If all the world and love were young,
And truth in every shepherd’s tongue,
These pretty pleasures might me move
To live with thee and be thy love.

Time drives the flocks from field to fold
When rivers rage and rocks grow cold,
And Philomel becometh dumb;
The rest complains of cares to come.

The flowers do fade, and wanton fields
To wayward winter reckoning yields;
A honey tongue, a heart of gall,
Is fancy’s spring, but sorrow’s fall,

Thy gowns, thy shoes, thy beds of roses,
Thy cap, thy kirtle, and thy posies
Soon break, soon wither, soon forgotten–
In folly ripe, in reason rotten.

Thy belt of straw and ivy buds,
Thy coral clasps and amber studs,
All these in me no means can move
To come to thee and be thy love.

But could youth last and love still breed,
Had joys no date nor age no need,
Then these delights my mind might move
To live with thee and be thy love.

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