A BOOK OF AIRS: SONG 31 by THOMAS CAMPION

LONG have mine eyes gazed with delight,
Conveying hopes unto my soul;
In nothing happy, but in sight
Of her, that doth my sight control:
But now mine eyes must lose their light.

My object now must be the air;
To write in water words of fire;
And teach sad thoughts how to despair:
Desert must quarrel with Desire.
All were appeased were she not fair.

For all my comfort, this I prove,
That Venus on the sea was born:
If seas be calm, then doth she love;
If storms arise, I am forlorn;
My doubtful hopes like wind do move.

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