by Anonymous / Unidentified Author
How shall I then describe my Love?
Language: English
How shall I then describe my Love? When all men’s skilful art Is far inferior to her worth, To praise the unworthiest part. She’s chaste in looks, mild in her speech, In actions all discreet, Of nature loving, pleasing most, In virtue all complete. And for her voice a Philomel, Her lips may all lips scorn; No sun more clear than is her eye, In brightest summer morn. A mind wherein all virtues rest And take delight to be, And where all virtues graft themselves In that most fruitful tree: A tree that India doth not yield, Nor ever yet was seen, Where buds of virtue always spring, And all the year grow green. That country’s blest wherein she grows, And happy is that rock From whence she springs: but happiest he That grafts in such a stock.
Lyrics from the Song-Books of the Elizabethan Age, ed. by A. H. Bullen, London, John C. Nimmo, 1887, pages 39-40.
Researcher for this text: Emily Ezust [Administrator]
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 Thomas Ford (d. 1648), "How shall I then describe my Love?", published 1607, from the collection Musicke of Sundrie Kindes [text verified 1 time]
Researcher for this text: Emily Ezust [Administrator]
This text was added to the website: 2014-02-24
Line count: 24
Word count: 138