 | Phantasmion |  |
189
[False Love, too long thou hast delay'd]
False Love, too long thou hast delay'd,
Too late I make my choice;
Yet win for me that precious maid,
And bid my heart rejoice,
Then shall mine eyes shoot youthful fire,
My cheek with triumph glow,
And other maids that glance desire,
Which I on one bestow.
Too late I make my choice;
Yet win for me that precious maid,
And bid my heart rejoice,
Then shall mine eyes shoot youthful fire,
My cheek with triumph glow,
And other maids that glance desire,
Which I on one bestow.
Make her with smile divinely bland
Beam sunshine o'er my face,
And Time shall touch with gentlest hand
What she hath deign'd to grace;
O'er scanty locks full wreaths I'll wear;
No wrinkled brow to shade,
For joy will smooth the furrows there,
Which earlier griefs have made.
Beam sunshine o'er my face,
And Time shall touch with gentlest hand
What she hath deign'd to grace;
O'er scanty locks full wreaths I'll wear;
No wrinkled brow to shade,
For joy will smooth the furrows there,
Which earlier griefs have made.
Though sports of youth be tedious toil,
When youth has pass'd away,
I'll cast aside the martial spoil
With her light locks to play;
Yea turn, sweet maid, from tented field
To rove where dewdrops shine,
Nor care what hand the sceptre wield,
So thou wilt grant me thine.
When youth has pass'd away,
I'll cast aside the martial spoil
With her light locks to play;
190
To rove where dewdrops shine,
Nor care what hand the sceptre wield,
So thou wilt grant me thine.
| Phantasmion | |