VIII. Hark, Lovers! Hark, a strange miracle

Robert Tofte (1561–1620)

HARK, Lovers! Hark, a strange miracle

Of one, deprived of heart; yet death doth ’scape!

Mine L. a flower gave me, which sweet did smell;

And for the same, away my life did take.

So that I only breathe through scent of flower;

And without heart, not without life, I live.

Then is not this, of might LOVE his power

A wonder strange? which he for sport doth give:

When that a flower sustaineth me alone

With life; who in my body, heart have none.