Lighting the heartless heaven with your eyes?

O foolish birds, why pipe across the dark,

Calling the rosy morn, the false-faced morn,

While hearts are breaking here amid the dark?

Launcelot! Launcelot! Hark! he returns.

Nay, ’tis the foolish wind wooing the silly trees.

He never will return, nor will forgive.

O poor white hand! he nevermore will clasp,

O wayward lips! he nevermore will kiss.

O heart, break! break!