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Winterfylleth
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The Nymph
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 songs of birds becometh dumb;
The rest complains of cares to come.
Flowers fade and wanton fields
Wayward winter reckoning yields
Honey Tongue a heart of Gall
Sorrow's Fall
Thy belt of straw and Ivy buds,
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Thy coral clasps and amber studs,
All these in me no means can move
To come to thee and be thy love.
Flowers fade and wanton fields
Wayward winter reckoning yields
Honey Tongue a heart of Gall
Sorrow's Fall
Could youth last and love still breed,
Had joys no date, nor age, nor need,
These delights my mind might move
To by thy love.
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