Thomas Weelkes (1576 - 1623)

Now every tree (1597)

Now ev'ry tree renews his summer green,

         Why is your heart in winter's garments clad?

Your beauty says "my love is summer's queen:"

         But your cold love like winter makes me sad;

Then either spring with buds of love again,

         Or else congeal my thoughts with your disdain.


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