There I couch when owls do cry: On the bat's back I do fly After summer merrily. Merrily, merrily, shall I live now, Under the blossom that hangs on the bough. Full many a glorious morning have I seen. FULL many a glorious morning have I seen Yet him for this my love no whit disdaineth; Suns of the world may stain when heaven's sun staineth. BLOW, blow thou winter wind, Thou art not so unkind As man's ingratitude; Thy tooth is not so keen, Because thou art not seen, Although thy breath be rude. |