TELL ME SOME WAY
OH, you who love me not, tell me some way Whereby I may forget you for a space; Nay, clean forget you and your lovely face — Yet well I know how vain this prayer I pray. All weathers hold you. Can I make the May Forbid her boughs blow white in every place? Or rob June of her rose that comes apace? Cheat of their charm the elder months and gray? Aye, were you dead, you could not be forgot: So sparse the bloom along the lanes would be; Such sweetness out the briery hedges fled; My tears would fall that you had loved me not, And bitterer tears that you had gone from me; Living, you break my heart, so would you dead!