1 Come, O come my lifes delight ; Let me not in languor pine : Loue loues no delay : thy sight, The more enioy'd, the more diuine. O come and take from mee The paine of being depriu'd of thee. 2 Thou all sweetnesse dost enclose, Like a little world of blisse : Beauty guards thy lookes, the Rose In them pure and eternall is. Come then and make thy flight As swift to me as heau'nly light.
Online text copyright ©, Harald Lillmeyer