by Peter Anthony Motteux (1663 - 1718)
Stript of their green our Groves appear
Language: English
Stript of their green our Groves appear, Our vales lie buried deep in snow; The blowing north controls the dire, A nipping cold chills all below. The frost has glaz'd our deepest streams, Phoebus withdraws his kindly beams. Yet winter blest be thy return, Thou'st brought the swain For whom I us'd to mourn; And in thy ice with pleasing flames we burn. Too soon the sun's reviving heat, Will thaw thy ice and melt thy snow, Trumpets will sound, and drums will beat, And tell me the dear, dear youth must go; Then must my weak unwilling arms, Resign him up to stronger charms; What flowers, what sweets, what beauteous thing, When Damon's gone, can ease or pleasure bring? Winter brings Damon, winter is my spring.
Authorship:
- by Peter Anthony Motteux (1663 - 1718) [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 Henry Purcell (1658/9 - 1695), "Stript of their green our Groves appear", Z. 444. [text verified 1 time]
Researcher for this text: Emily Ezust [Administrator]
This text was added to the website between May 1995 and September 2003.
Line count: 19
Word count: 127