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- Of The Wand And The Moon - She With Whom Compar’d The Alpes Are Vallies Lyrics
- Uploaded by LOVE4LYRICS at Pastebin.com
- I wish to fire the trees af all these forrest
- I give the Sunne a last farewell each evening
- I curse the fidling finders out of Musicke
- With envie i doo hate the loftie mountains
- And with despite despise the humble vallies
- I doo detest night, evening, day, and morning
- For she, whose parts maintainde a perfect musique
- Whose beawties shin'de more then the blushing morning
- Who much did passe in state the stately mountains
- In straightnes past the Cedars of the forest
- Hath cast me wretch into eternally evening
- By taking her two Sunnes from these darke vallies
- Curse to my selfe my prayers is, the morning
- My fire is more, then can be made with forrests
- My state more base, then are the basest vallies
- I wish no evenings more to see, each evening
- Shamed I hate my selfe in sight of mountaines
- And stoppe mine ears, lest I growe mad with Musicke
- For she, with whorm compar'd, the Alpes are vallies
- She, whose lest word brings from the spheares their musique
- At whose approach the Sunne rase in the evening
- Who, where she went, bare in her forhead morning
- Is gone, is gone from these our spolyed forrests
- Turning to desarts our best pastur'de mountaines
- [Adapted from Sir Philip Sidneys: "The Countesse of pembrokes arcadia (1598)"]
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