Literary Gazette, 15th October, 1825, Page 668
SONG.
Taken from two old Provençal chansons.
Fair Morning, why art thou so fair?
I have no joy in thy sunshine:
I would there were a single cloud,
Dark as it had a grief like mine.
What boots to me the cheerful day,
With mine own love so far away?
I should rejoice, thou blushing Morn,
If thou wert with mine ladye faire;
We would go forth with hawke and horn,
And rouse the wild deer from his lair:
Now why should I wish a bright day,
With mine own love so far away?
I would rejoice, if thy fresh breath
Dried her light foot-prints off the dew;
If I could see her step and cheek
Shame thy soft air, thy roseate hue:
But what delight is there in day,
With mine own love so far away?
I like thee not, thou laughing Morn;
Thy sister is more dear to me—
Dim Evening, with her purple pall
Hung darkly over sky and sea;
Then nearer, by another day,
To mine own love, so far away.
But I will worship thee, sweet Morn,
When thou art rising on the shore
Whereon the peerless beauty dwells,
The ladye my liege thoughts adore:
No more then shall I pine, and say,
Mine own love is so far away.Iole.
