When all the burdens of the world surround,And no one knows the longing of my heart,My only source of solace is the soundOf thy sweet voice, though ‘kin to Cupid’s dart.I hear thee and my troubles fade like snowThat falls from heaven in the early May,To spend an instant on the ground below, Afore it melts and vanishes away.But when th’art gone, then Cupid’s grievous dartForbids me take my ebon pen and writeBut ‘minds me of each minute we’re apart,From light of dawn until the lonely night.What cruel Fate would take thee from this place, While I’m left lorn, sans rimes, in May’s embrace?