Shall I strive with words to move, When deeds receive not due regard? Shall I speak, and neither please, Nor be freely heard? Grief, alas, though all in vain, Her restless anguish must reveal: She alone my wound shall know, Though she will not heal. All woes have end, though awhile delay'd, Our patience proving. O that Time's strange effects Could but make, but make her loving. Storms calm at last, and why may not she Leave off her frowning? O sweet Love, help her hands My affection crowning. I woo'd her, I lov'd her, and none but her admire. O come, dear joy, And answer my desire.
- 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)
Researcher for this text: Emily Ezust [Administrator]
This text was added to the website between May 1995 and September 2003.
Line count: 22
Word count: 108