by Anonymous / Unidentified Author
O my poor eyes
Language: English
O my poor eyes, the sun whose shine Late gave you light doth now decline, And, set to you, to others riseth. She who would sooner die than change, Not fearing death delights to range, A now, O now, O now my soul despiseth. Yet, O my heart, thy state is blest To find our rest in thy unrest, Since thou her slave no more remainest. For she that bound thee sets thee free Then when she first forsaketh thee. Such, O such, O such right by wrong thou gainest. Eyes, gaze no more! heart learn to hate! Experience tells you all too late Fond woman's love with faith still warreth, While true desert speaks, writes and gives, Some groom the bargain nearer drives, And he, O he, O he, the market marreth.
Authorship:
- by Anonymous / Unidentified Author [author's text not yet checked against a primary source]
Musical settings (art songs, Lieder, mélodies, (etc.), choral pieces, and other vocal works set to this text), listed by composer (not necessarily exhaustive):
- by Robert Jones (fl. 1597-1615), "O my poor eyes", published 1601, from the collection First Book of Airs, no. 13. [text verified 1 time]
Researcher for this text: Emily Ezust [Administrator]
This text was added to the website: 2014-02-23
Line count: 18
Word count: 133