C.D. Warner, et al., comp.
The Library of the World’s Best Literature. An Anthology in Thirty Volumes. 1917.

Song: ‘My silks and fine array’

MY silks and fine array,

My smiles and languished air,

By love are driven away,

And mournful lean Despair

Brings me yew to deck my grave:

Such end true lovers have.

His face is fair as heaven

When springing buds unfold;

Oh, why to him was ’t given,

Whose heart is wintry cold?

His breast is Love’s all-worshiped tomb,

Where all Love’s pilgrims come.

Bring me an axe and spade,

Bring me a winding-sheet;

When I my grave have made,

Let winds and tempests beat:

Then down I’ll lie, as cold as clay:

True love doth never pass away.