by Anonymous / Unidentified Author
She, who my poor heart possesses
Language: English
She, who my poor heart possesses, Is of late so fickle grown; She to ev'ry fop that dresses Still is parting with her own. Once, if any chanc'd to name her, I all ravish'd did appear; Now I blush lest they defame her With some truth I dare not hear. While my doubts are yet prevailing, If she but the thing deny, Soon she makes me leave my railing, And I give my thoughts the lie. You whose skill in love is greater, Say what charm compels my fate, Say what makes me love her better, Whom I fear I ought to hate.
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 Henry Purcell (1658/9 - 1695), "She, who my poor heart possesses", Z. 415, published 1683. [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: 16
Word count: 103