Thomas Campion Quotes on Poetry
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Plead, Sleep, my cause, and make her soft like thee, That she in peace may wake and pity me.
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Shall I come, sweet Love, to thee, When the ev'ning beams are set?
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There is a garden in her face Where roses and white lilies blow; A heavenly paradise is that place, Wherein all pleasant fruits do grow; There cherries grow that none may buy, Till Cherry-Ripe themselves do cry.