O MAYDE more tender yet Than shy sweet buds that wake On rose-trees dewy wet When first the daye doth break, That from the thorny speare Half green, half red doe peere; Faster than ivy clyngs With supple stems entwyn'd Round the stout oak in ryngs A hundred-fold that bynd With their fond arms and slym The whole wide girth of hym, Round me, O faire and fond, Let thyne arms make a ryng; Link fast the gentle bond Of thy sweet tetheryng; Let kysses givn and ta'en For evermore remayne. Not tyme nor envious dread Of other love more meet Shall fynd me sunderéd From thy sweet lips, my sweet. Thus kissynge will we dwell Till lyfe bid us farewell. The same moon, the same daye, And the same hour we two Shall wander far awaye, Death's pallid house to view, And those faire fields out-spread For lovers haply wed. Love's self amid the flow'rs Of everlastynge sprynge Shall watch these loves of ours, Under the green boughs clynge; And we shall knowe the good Of gentle loverhood. In fields of sedge and thyme, Along the level grounde, With many a mazy chyme Accordant airs shall sounde; While, featly to these tunes A dancer swayes and swoones. There heaven's unclouded space Shynes ever with clear light; No serpent thro' the maze Spits venom in its spite; For ever in those trees Birds synge their melodies; Soft wyndes for ever goe With gentle sound a-styr, For ever laurels throwe Their coolynge shadowe there; There lovely flowers do swaye That never fade awaye. Somewhere in the wyde space This happye garden covers We two shall fynde our place Amid the throngynge lovers, Unweariéd as these In love's sweet ecstasies. |