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Correction Paroles
Love’s perjuries
par
Hubert Parry
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Paroles
On a day -- alack the day! -- Love, whose month is ever May Spied a blossom pa**ing fair Playing in the wanton air: Through the velvet leaves the wind All unseen, can pa**age find; That the lover, sick to death Wish himself the heaven's breath Air, quoth he, thy cheeks may blow; Air, would I might triumph so! But, alack, my hand is sworn Ne'er to pluck thee from thy thorn; Vow, alack, for youth unmeet Youth so apt to pluck a sweet! Do not call it sin in me That I am forsworn for thee; Thou for whom Jove would swear Juno but an Ethiope were; And deny himself for Jove Turning mortal for thy love
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