LOVE is the blossom where there blows <br />Every thing that lives or grows: <br />Love doth make the Heav'ns to move, <br />And the Sun doth burn in love: <br />Love the strong and weak doth yoke, <br />And makes the ivy climb the oak, <br />Under whose shadows lions wild, <br />Soften'd by love, grow tame and mild: <br />Love no med'cine can appease, <br />He burns the fishes in the seas: <br />Not all the skill his wounds can stench, <br />Not all the sea his fire can quench. <br />Love did make the bloody spear <br />Once a leavy coat to wear, <br />While in his leaves there shrouded lay <br />Sweet birds, for love that sing and play <br />And of all love's joyful flame <br />I the bud and blossom am. <br /> Only bend thy knee to me, <br /> Thy wooing shall thy winning be! <br /> <br />See, see the flowers that below <br />Now as fresh as morning blow; <br />And of all the virgin rose <br />That as bright Aurora shows; <br />How they all unleaved die, <br />Losing their virginity! <br />Like unto a summer shade, <br />But now born, and now they fade. <br />Every thing doth pass away; <br />There is danger in delay: <br />Come, come, gather then the rose, <br />Gather it, or it you lose! <br />All the sand of Tagus' shore <br />Into my bosom casts his ore: <br />All the valleys' swimming corn <br />To my house is yearly borne: <br />Every grape of every vine <br />Is gladly bruised to make me wine: <br />While ten thousand kings, as proud, <br />To carry up my train have bow'd, <br />And a world of ladies send me <br />In my chambers to attend me: <br />All the stars in Heav'n that shine, <br />And ten thousand more, are mine: <br /> Only bend thy knee to me, <br /> Thy wooing shall thy winning be!<br /><br />Giles Fletcher The Younger<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/wooing-song/
