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C.D. Warner, et al., comp.
The Library of the World’s Best Literature. An Anthology in Thirty Volumes. 1917.

Songs from ‘Light Conceits of Lovers’

By Thomas Campion (1567–1620)

WHERE shee her sacred bowre adornes,

The Rivers clearely flow;

The groves and medowes swell with flowres,

The windes all gently blow.

Her Sunne-like beauty shines so fayre,

Her Spring can never fade:

Who then can blame the life that strives

To harbour in her shade?

Her grace I sought, her love I wooed;

Her love though I obtaine,

No time, no toyle, no vow, no faith,

Her wishèd grace can gaine.

Yet truth can tell my heart is hers,

And her will I adore;

And from that love when I depart,

Let heav’n view me no more!

GIVE beauty all her right,—

She’s not to one forme tyed;

Each shape yeelds faire delight,

Where her perfections bide.

Helen, I grant, might pleasing be;

And Ros’mond was as sweet as shee.

Some, the quicke eye commends;

Some, swelling lips and red;

Pale lookes have many friends,

Through sacred sweetnesse bred.

Medowes have flowres that pleasure move,

Though Roses are the flowres of love.

Free beauty is not bound

To one unmovèd clime:

She visits ev’ry ground,

And favours ev’ry time.

Let the old loves with mine compare,

My Sov’raigne is as sweet and fair.