Lady, when I behold the roses sprouting,
Which clad in damask mantles deck the arbours,
And then behold your lips, where sweet Love harbours,
My eyes present me with a double doubting.
For, viewing both alike, hardly my mind supposes
Whether the roses be your lips or your lips the roses.
More verses by John Wilbye
- Fly Not So Swift, My Dear
- Hard Destinies Are Love And Beauty Parted
- Ah! Cruel Amarillis
- Despiteful Thus Unto Myself, I Languish
- Cruel, Behold My Heavy Ending
