poem index


Giles Fletcher

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by this poet

Love is the blossom where there blows   
Every thing that lives or grows:   
Love doth make the Heav'ns to move,   
And the Sun doth burn in love:   
Love the strong and weak doth yoke, 
And makes the ivy climb the oak,   
Under whose shadows lions wild,   
Soften'd by love, grow tame and mild:   
Love no med'