Song
My silks and fine array, 1
My smiles and languish'd air,
By love are driv'n away;
And mournful lean Despair
Brings me yew to deck my grave: 5
Such end true lovers have.
His face is fair as heav'n
When springing buds unfold;
O why to him was't giv'n
Whose heart is wintry cold? 10
His breast is love's all worship'd tomb,
Where all love's pilgrims come.
Bring me an axe and spade,
Bring me a winding sheet;
When I my grave have made 15
Let winds and tempests beat:
Then down I'll lie as cold as clay.
True love doth pass away!
Poetical Sketches, p. 11.
Song
Love and harmony combine, 1
And around our souls intwine
While thy branches mix with mine,
And our roots together join.
Joys upon our branches sit, 5
Chirping loud and singing sweet;
Like gentle streams beneath our feet
Innocence and virtue meet.
Poetical Sketches, p. 12.
intwine] entwine all except Shep.
