Part 1 — A SIGH.
Reading edition
How can I live, my love, so far from thee, Since far from thee my spirit droops and dies? Who is there left, my love, for me to see, Since beauty is concentrate in thine eyes? My only life is sending thee my sighs, Which, as sweet birds fly home from deserts lone, Fly swift to thee as each swift moment flies, Uprising from the current of my moan. But closed is still thy heart of cruel stone, And my poor sighs drop murdered at thy feet, For which, while I in grief do sigh and groan, New hosts arise to meet a death so sweet, Ah! love, give scorn; for if love thou shouldst give, How could I love thee in thy sight, and live?