1 Where shee her sacred bowre adornes
The Riuers clearely flow :
The groues and medowes swell with flowres,
The windes all gently blow.
Her Sunne-like beauty shines so fayre
Her Spring can neuer fade :
Who then can blame the life that striues
To harbour in her shade ?
2 Her grace I sought, her loue I wooed;
Her loue thogh I obtaine,
No time, no toyle, no vow, no faith
Her wished grace can gaine.
Yet truth can tell my heart is hers,
And her will I adore :
And from that loue when I depart
Let heau'n view me no more.
3 Her roses with my prayes shall spring,
And when her trees I praise,
Their boughs shall blossome, mellow fruit
Shall straw her pleasant wayes.
The words of harty zeale haue powre
High wonders to effect;
O why should then her Princely eare
My words, or zeale neglect ?
4 If shee my faith misdeemes, or worth,
Woe-worth my haplesse fate :
For though time can my truth reueale,
That time will come too late.
And who can glory in the worth,
That cannot yeeld him grace ?
Content in eu'ry thing is not,
Nor ioy in eu'ry place.
5 But from her bowre of Ioy since I
Must now excluded be :
And shee will not relieue my cares
Which none can helpe but shee :
My comfort in her loue shall dwell,
Her loue lodge in my brest ;
And thogh not in her bowre, yet I
Shall in her temple rest.
Online text copyright ©, Harald Lillmeyer