Anonymous

FAIN would I change that note

To which fond Love hath charm’d me

Long long ago to sing by rote,

Fancying that that harm’d me:

Yet when this thought doth come,

‘Love is the perfect sum

Of all delight,’

I have no other choice

Either for pen or voice

To sing or write.

O Love! they wrong thee much

That say thy sweet is bitter,

When thy rich fruit is such

As nothing can be sweeter.

Fair house of joy and bliss,

Where truest pleasure is,

I do adore thee:

I know thee what thou art,

I serve thee with my heart,

And fall before thee.