All the day, the sun that lends me shine By frowns doth cause me pine, And feeds me with delay. Her smiles, my springs, that make my joys to grow: Her frowns, the winters of my woe. All the night, my sleeps are full of dreams, My eyes are full of streams; My heart takes no delight To see the fruits and joys that some do find, And mark the storms are me assigned. Out, alas! my faith is ever true; Yet she will never rue, Nor yield me any grace. Her eyes, of fire; her heart of flint is made: Whom tears nor truth may once invade. Gentle LOVE draw forth thy wounding dart! Thou can'st not pierce her heart! For I (that do approve By sighs and tears, more hot than are thy shafts) Did 'tempt, while she for triumph laughs. * * * * * (_On the British Museum Copy, G9, there is the following pencil note to this Song._ These words by [ROBERT DEVEREUX] the Earl of ESSEX, and sung before Queen ELIZABETH, in a Masque at Greenwich.) His golden locks, Time hath to silver turned. O Time too swift! O swiftness never ceasing! His Youth, 'gainst Time and Age hath ever spurned, But spurned in vain, Youth waneth by increasing. Beauty, Strength, Youth are flowers but fading seen; Duty, Faith, Love are roots, and ever green. His helmet, now, shall make a hive for bees, And lover's Sonnets turn to holy Psalms; A man-at-arms must, now, serve on his knees, And feed on prayers, which are Age's alms: But though from Court to cottage he depart, His Saint is sure of his unspotted heart. And when he saddest sits, in homely cell, H'll teach his swains this Carol for a Song; _Blest be the hearts that wish my Sovereign well!_ _Curst be the soul that thinks her any wrong!_ Goddess! Allow this aged man his right! To be your Beadsman now; that was your Knight. * * * * * Awake, sweet love! Thou art returned! My heart, which long in absence mourned, Lives now in perfect joy. Only herself hath seemèd fair; She only could I love. She only drave me to despair, When she unkind did prove. Let love which never, absent, dies; Now live for ever in her eyes! Whence came my first annoy: Despair did make me wish to die That I my joys might end, She only, which did make me fly, My state may now amend. If she esteem thee now ought worth; She will not grieve thy love henceforth! Which so despair hath proved. Despair hath proved now in me That love will not unconstant be, Though long in vain I loved.