The Spring of Joy is Dry

The Spring of Joy is dry,

That ran into my heart;

And all my comforts fly:

My Love and I must part.

Farewell, my Love, I go,

If fate will have it so.

Yet to content us both

Return again, as doth

The shadow to the hour,

The bee unto the flower,

The fish unto the hook,

The cattle to the brook,

That we may sport our fill,

And love continue still.