Texts by Thomas Campion (1567-1620)

Oft have I sigh’d
Oft have I sigh’d for him that hears me not;
Who absent hath both love and me forgot.
O yet I languish still through his delay:
Days seem as years when wished friends break their day.
Had he but loved as common lovers use,
His faithless stay some kindness would excuse :
O yet I languish still, still constant mourn
For him that can break vows but not return.

Turn back, you wanton flyer
Turn back you wanton flyer,
And answer my desire
With mutual greeting,
Yet bend a little nearer,
True beauty still shines clearer
In closer meeting,
Hearts with hearts delighted
Should strive to be united,
Either other’s arms with arms enchaining,
Hearts with a thought, rosy lips
With a kiss still entertaining.

What harvest half so sweet is
As still so reap the kisses
Grown ripe in sowing,
And straight to be receiver,
Of that which thou art giver,
Rich in bestowing.
There’s no strict observing,
Of times, or seasons changing,
There is ever one fresh spring abiding,
Then what we sow with our lips
Let us reap love’s gains dividing.

Come, O come, my life’s delight
Come, O come, my life’s delight!
Let me not in languor pine:
Love loves no delay, thy sight
The more enjoyed, the more divine.
O come, and take from me
The pain of being deprived of thee.

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!

The cypress curtain of the night
Turn back you wanton flyer,
And answer my desire
With mutual greeting,
Yet bend a little nearer,
True beauty still shines clearer
In closer meeting,
Hearts with hearts delighted
Should strive to be united,
Either other’s arms with arms enchaining,
Hearts with a thought, rosy lips
With a kiss still entertaining.

What harvest half so sweet is
As still so reap the kisses
Grown ripe in sowing,
And straight to be receiver,
Of that which thou art giver,
Rich in bestowing.
There’s no strict observing,
Of times, or seasons changing,
There is ever one fresh spring abiding,
Then what we sow with our lips
Let us reap love’s gains dividing.

Beauty, since you so much desire
Beauty, since you so much desire
To know the place of Cupid’s fire,
About you somewhere doth it rest,
Yet never harbor’d in your breast,
Nor gout-like in your heel or toe;
What fool would seek Love’s flame so low?
But a little higher, but a little higher,
There, there, o there lies Cupid’s fire.

Think not, when Cupid most you scorn,
Men judge that you of Ice were born ;
For though you cast love at your heel,
His fury yet sometime you feel:
And whereabouts if you would know,
I tell you still not in your toe:
But a little higher, but a little higher,
There, there, o there lies Cupid’s fire.