text,updated_at,metaphor,created_at,context,theme,reviewed_on,dictionary,comments,provenance,id,work_id
"Deare Brother, thy Idea in my mind doth lye,
And is intomb'd in my sad memory;
Where every day I to thy Shrine doe goe,
And offer tears, which from my eyes doe flow.
My heart the fire, whose flames are ever pure,
Laid on Loves Altar last, till life endure.
My sorrows incense strew, of sighs fetched deep,
My thoughts do watch while they sweet spirit sleeps.
Dear blessed soul, though thou art gone, yet lives
Thy fame on earth, and men thee praises give.
But all's too smal, for thy Heroick minde
Was above all the praises of Man-kinde. ",2012-04-26 20:48:35 UTC,"""Deare Brother, thy Idea in my mind doth lye, / And is intomb'd in my sad memory.""",2006-12-15 00:00:00 UTC,I've included the entire poem,"",2007-04-26,"","",Reading Ron Cooleys' website. <http://www.usask.ca/english/phoenix/cavendishpoems1.htm>.,9323,3597
"When we have pious thoughts, and think of Heaven,
Yet go about, nor ask to be forgiven,
Perchance they're preaching, or a chapter saying,
Or on their knees they are devoutly praying;
When we are sad, and know no reason why,
Perchance it is, because some there do die;
And some place may in th' head be hung with black,
Which makes us dull, yet know not what we lack.
Our fancies which in verse or prose we put,
May pictures be, which they do draw or cut;
And when these fancies and thin do show,
They may be graven in seal, for ought we know;
When we have cross opinions in the mind,
Then we may them in Schools disputing find;
When we of childish toys do think, a fair
May be in th' brain, where crowds of fairies are,
And in each stall may all such knacks be sold,
As rattles, bells, or bracelets made of gold;
Pins, whistles, and the like may be brought there,
And thus within the head may be a fair:
And when our brain with amorous thoughts is stayed,
Perhaps there is a bride and bridegroom made;
And when our thoughts all merry be and gay,
There may be dancing on their wedding day.",2009-09-14 19:34:08 UTC,"""And some place may in th' head be hung with black, / Which makes us dull, yet know not what we lack.""",2006-12-15 00:00:00 UTC,I've included the entire poem,"",,"","",Reading,9330,3599