Orpheus with his lute made trees,
And the mountain tops that freeze,
Bow themselves, when he did sing:
To his music plants and flowers
Ever sprung; as sun and showers
There had made a lasting spring.
What did thy song bode, lady?
Can you hear me sing?
I will play the swan, And die in music.
Hark, can you hear me?
Everything that heard him play,
Even the billows of the sea,
Hung their heads, and then lay by.
In sweet music is such art,
Killing care and grief of heart
Fall asleep, or hearing, die.
What did thy song bode, lady?
Can you hear me sing?
I will play the swan, And die in music.
Hark, can you hear me?
Her painted beauty to his verse,
fair with his fair doth rehearse.
With April's first, and all things rare.
Let me, true in love, but write
Any child, though not so bright
As candles fixed in heaven's air
What did thy song bode, lady?
Can you hear me sing?
I will play the swan, And die in music.
Hark, can you hear me?
If my muse do please these days,
The pain be mine, but thine shall be the praise.
Worthy stand against thy sight.
Give thy self the thanks, if aught in me
For who cannot write to thee,
Thou dost give invention light
What did thy song bode, lady?
Can you hear me sing?
I will play the swan, And die in music.
Hark, can you hear me?
True concord of well-tuned sounds
Sweetly chide who confounds
Strikes each in each mutual ordering
Sweet husband to another
Loving child and happy mother
All in one, one note do sing
What did thy song bode, lady?
Can you hear me sing?
I will play the swan, And die in music.
Hark, can you hear me?
What did thy song bode, lady?
Can you hear me sing?
I will play the swan, And die in music.
Hark, can you hear me?