Sir Walter Raleigh—knight, courtier, defender of the British realm against the Spanish armada, colonizer, explorer, popularizer of the myth of El Dorado, probable lover to Queen Elizabeth (who secretly married one of the Queen’s ladies-in-waiting without permission), after whom the capital of Virginia is named (though he never travelled to North America and the colony he funded there was a failure)—was considered one of the greatest men of his age during his age. In the 19th century there was a theory, still held by a minority of scholars now, that he was the actual author of Shakespeare’s plays.

A proponent of the so-called “plain style”, which resisted the elaborate constructions influenced by the Italians, Raleigh is little read today, but he was a writer of particularly brilliant poems in an era known for its brilliance. Here is one of my favorites:

Epitaph on the Earl of Leicester, died
September 4, 1588

        Here lies the noble warrior that never blunted sword;
        Here lies the noble courtier that never kept his word;
        Here lies his excellency that govern'd all the State;
        Here lies the Lord of Leicester that all the world did hate.

Of course one of his best poems is his response to Marlowe’s “The Passionate Shepherd to His Love”, one of the most famous pastoral poems of all time. To get the full sense of Raleigh’s poem, here is Marlowe’s:

The Passionate Shepherd to His Love

Come live with me, and be my love;
And we will all the pleasures prove
That hills and valleys, dales and fields,
Woods, or steepy mountain yields.

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

And I will make thee beds of roses,
And a thousand fragrant posies;
A cap of flowers, and a kirtle
Embroidered 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.

The shepherds' 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.

And Raleigh’s:

The Nymph’s Reply to the Shepherd

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.