Poem by Thomas Campion

* * *

SHALL 1 I come, sweet Love, to thee
  When the evening beams are set?
Shall I not excluded be?
  Will you find no feignèd let?
Let me not, for pity, more
Tell the long hours at your door.

Who can tell what thief or foe,
  In the covert of the night,
For his prey will work my woe,
  Or through wicked foul despite?
So may I die unredrest
Ere my long love be possest.

But to let such dangers pass,
  Which a lover’s thoughts disdain,
’Tis enough in such a place
  To attend love’s joys in vain:
Do not mock me in thy bed,
While these cold nights freeze me dead.

1. Fire That Must Flame Is with Apt Fuel Fed
2. To Music Bent Is My Retired Mind
3. Follow Your Saint
4. The Charm
5. My Sweetest Lesbia

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