Cold Winter’s ice is fled and gone,
From John Dowland’s First Book of Songs or Airs, 1597.
Come away! come, sweet Love!
Come away![3] come, sweet Love!
The golden morning wastes
While the sun from his sphere
His fiery arrows casts:
Making all the shadows fly,
Playing, staying in the grove
To entertain the stealth of love.
Thither, sweet Love, let us hie,
Flying, dying in desire,
Wing’d with sweet hopes and heavenly fire.
Come away! come, sweet Love!
Do not in vain adorn
Beauty’s grace, that should rise
Like to our naked morn!
Lilies on the river’s side,
And fair Cyprian flowers new-blown,
Desire no beauties but their own:
Ornament is nurse of pride.
Pleasure measure love’s delight:
Haste then, sweet love, our wishèd flight!
[3] This stanza is not in the original, but is added in England’s Helicon.
From Thomas Campion’s Third Book of Airs (circ. 1613).
Come, O come, my life’s delight!
Thou all sweetness dost enclose,
Like a little world of bliss;
Beauty guards thy looks, the rose
In them pure and eternal is:
Come, then, and make thy flight
As swift to me as heavenly light!