C.D. Warner, et al., comp.
The Library of the World’s Best Literature. An Anthology in Thirty Volumes. 1917.
Songs from ‘Light Conceits of Lovers’
By Thomas Campion (1567–1620)
W
The Rivers clearely flow;
The groves and medowes swell with flowres,
The windes all gently blow.
Her Sunne-like beauty shines so fayre,
Her Spring can never fade:
Who then can blame the life that strives
To harbour in her shade?
Her love though I obtaine,
No time, no toyle, no vow, no faith,
Her wishèd grace can gaine.
Yet truth can tell my heart is hers,
And her will I adore;
And from that love when I depart,
Let heav’n view me no more!
She’s not to one forme tyed;
Each shape yeelds faire delight,
Where her perfections bide.
Helen, I grant, might pleasing be;
And Ros’mond was as sweet as shee.
Some, swelling lips and red;
Pale lookes have many friends,
Through sacred sweetnesse bred.
Medowes have flowres that pleasure move,
Though Roses are the flowres of love.
To one unmovèd clime:
She visits ev’ry ground,
And favours ev’ry time.
Let the old loves with mine compare,
My Sov’raigne is as sweet and fair.