All Changeth
The angry winds not aye
Do cuff the roaring deep,
And though heavens often weep,
Yet do they smile for joy when comes dismay:
Frosts do not ever kill the pleasant flow'rs,
And love hath sweets when gone are all the soures.
This said a shepheard, closing in his armes
His deare, who blusht to feele love's new alarmes.
Do cuff the roaring deep,
And though heavens often weep,
Yet do they smile for joy when comes dismay:
Frosts do not ever kill the pleasant flow'rs,
And love hath sweets when gone are all the soures.
This said a shepheard, closing in his armes
His deare, who blusht to feele love's new alarmes.
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