How lovely thou art, as the light of day,
For what feelings, my beauty, in thee end,
Hold my hand that mine tattered heart might say,
‘Play on this music that all love defend!’
To feast on warm tones, free of woeful pain,
Please delay not, for thy voice revives me;
From all ill uphold thee whence tears did rain;
This love’s soldier tis thy steed, all for thee.
The jealous thought cannot wisdom alter
That burden tis but crestfallen illusion;
For firmness of resolve dare not falter,
Should idleness fall upon delusion;
For love born of grace tis ne’er intrusion;
My joy lifts skyward beyond allusion.