The Nymph

If all the world and love were young And truth in every shepherd's tongue These pretty pleasures might me move To live with thee and be thy love Time drives the flocks from field to fold When rivers rage and rocks grow cold And songs of birds becometh dumb The rest complains of cares to come Flowers fade and wanton fields Wayward winter reckoning yields Honey Tongue, a heart of Gall Sorrow's Fall Thy belt of straw and Ivy buds Thy coral clasps and amber studs All these in me no means can move To come to thee and be thy love Flowers fade and wanton fields Wayward winter reckoning yields Honey Tongue, a heart of Gall Sorrow's Fall Could youth last and love still breed Had joys no date, nor age, nor need These delights my mind might move To by thy love