When Heaven is dark it shineth
And unto love inclineth.
Fa la la!
From John Dowland’s Second Book of Songs and Airs, 1600.
Toss not my soul, O Love, ’twixt hope and fear!
Take me, Assurance, to thy blissful hold!
Or thou Despair, unto thy darkest cell!
Each hath full rest: the one, in joys enroll’d;
Th’ other, in that he fears no more, is well.
When once the uttermost of ill is known,
The strength of sorrow quite is overthrown.
From Thomas Campion’s Fourth Book of Airs (circ. 1613).
Turn all thy thoughts to eyes,
Turn darkness into day,
Conjectures into truth,
Believe what th’ envious say,
Let age interpret youth:
True love will yet be free
In spite of jealousy.
Wrest every word and look,
Rack every hidden thought;
Or fish with golden hook,
True love cannot be caught:
For that will still be free
In spite of jealousy.
From Thomas Ford’s Music of Sundry Kinds, 1607.
Unto the temple of thy beauty,