O I would rest where I love best;
Where I love best I may not be:
A hawk doth on that rose-tree sit,
And drives young love to fear and flee.

O would I were the goldfinch gay!
My richer suit had tempted strong.
O would I were the nightingale!
Thou then had'st listened to my song.

Though deep my scorn I cannot hate,
Thy beauty's sweet though sour thy pride;
To praise thee is to love thee still,
And it doth cheer my heart beside.

For I could swim the deepest lake,
And I could climb the highest tree,
The greatest danger face and brave,
And all for one kind kiss of thee.

O love is here, and love is there:
O love is like no other thing:
Its frowns can make a king a slave,
Its smiles can make a slave a king.




BETRAYED