Sonnets to Sundry Notes of Music II

ON a day, alack the day!
Love, whose month was ever May,
Spied a blossom passing fair,
Playing in the wanton air:
Through the velvet leaves the wind,	5
All unseen, ’gan passage find;
That the lover, sick to death,
Wish’d himself the heaven’s breath.
‘Air,’ quoth he, ‘thy cheeks may blow;
Air, would I might triumph so!	10
But, alas! my hand hath sworn
Ne’er to pluck thee from thy thorn:
Vow, alack! for youth unmeet:
Youth, so apt to pluck a sweet.
Thou for whom Jove would swear	15
Juno but an Ethiop were;
And deny himself for Jove,
Turning mortal for thy love.’