Carol and Cadence :: :: University of Virginia Library

My share I've suffered of dole and dearth,
With labour plenty and little play:
My bread I've boughten at double worth;
I've given the best of myself in pay:
Scant share of pleasance I've had or mirth;
And now all that loved me are under the clay.
My world is a waste and my song is a sigh;
And werena my heart licht, I wad die.

I've delved in the Autumn, I've sown in the Spring;
I've holpen in harvest to garner the fruit;
I've lilted in Summer with life on the wing
And carolled in Winter, when all was mute.
But now I have heart no more to sing:
The music's dead in my broken lute,
The bird soared back to its native sky;
And werena my heart licht, I wad die.

The things that I loved have had their day;
They're all consumed of Time's wasting fire.
The sun hath waned from the world away;
The sad folk grovel in gloom and mire.
My life is lightless; my head is grey;
My soul is weary for wandesire;
I'm sick with regret for the days gone by;
And werena my heart licht, I wad die.

I'm sick of the riot of spite and strife
That darkens the old all-suffering sun;
I'm weary of hearing the name of Right
Perverted to wrong and rapine done;
I'm weary of hearing the dark called light
By those whose fashions the daylight shun;
I'm weary of warring with lust and lie;
And werena my heart licht, I wad die.

293

The blossoming world of the days of my youth
The cheat and the huckster have brought to need:
They've broken the blazon of honour and truth
And crippled Faith's wings with their hate and their greed.
The sweetness of song they have marred sans ruth:
For a flower that they found they have left us a weed:
In the green leaf they've sown; they will reap in the dry;
And werena my heart licht, I wad die.

They've made of our world, that was well content,
A desert of hatred and doubt and gloom.
Dissembling their aim 'neath a smug ostent,
Our life for their profit they've robbed of bloom.
The teeth of the dragon, wherever they went,
They've sown for harvest: they've left no room
In life for the things that are fair and high;
And werena my heart licht, I wad die.

Our feet they've fettered with rules of wrong
And bounden our souls in a sordid thrall:
Life blossoms no longer with love and song;
The heel of the spoiler is over it all.
Our souls have hung on the cross too long;
They have drunken too deep of the sponge of gall.
There's none to hearken our bitter cry;
And werena my heart licht, I wad die.

What worth is life in this time of ours,
That is but a tangle of strife and spleen,
A haggard riot of restless hours?
A quiet grave, where the grass is green
With the sacrament of the sun and showers,
Were better than life so mad and mean.
Aweary for rest and peace am I;
And werena my heart licht, I wad die.