THE CONSTANT HEART
Sadde songe is out of season
When birdes and lovers mate,
When soule to soule must paye swete toll
And fate be joyned with fate;
Sadde songe and wofull thought controle
This constant heart of myne,
And make newe love a treason
Unto my Valentine.
How shall my wan lippes utter
Their summons to the dedde,—
Where nowe repeate the promise swete,
So farre my love hath fledd?
My onely love! What musicke fleet
Shall crosse the walle that barres?
To earthe the burthen mutter,
Or singe it to the starrs?
Perchance she dwelles a spirite
In beautye undestroyed
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