love's perjuries - hubert parry lyrics
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on a day ** alack the day! **
love, whose month is ever may
spied a blossom passing fair
playing in the wanton air:
through the velvet leaves the wind
all unseen, can passage find;
that the lover, sick to death
wish himself the heaven’s breath
air, quoth he, thy cheeks may blow;
air, would i might triumph so!
but, alack, my hand is sworn
ne’er to pluck thee from thy th*rn;
vow, alack, for youth unmeet
youth so apt to pluck a sweet!
do not call it sin in me
that i am forsworn for thee;
thou for whom jove would swear
juno but an ethiope were;
and deny himself for jove
turning mortal for thy love
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