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lirik lagu claire bloom - wilt thou be gone? it is not yet near day

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wilt thou be gone? it is not yet near day
it was the nightingale, and not the lark
that pierced the fearful hollow of thine ear
nightly she sings on yond pomegranate tree
believe me, love, it was the nightingale

it was the lark, the herald of the morn
no nightingale. look, love, what envious streaks
do lace the severing clouds in yonder east
night’s candles are burnt out, and jocund day
stands tiptoe on the misty mountain~tops
i must be gonе and live, or stay and die

yond light is not daylight, i know it, i
it is some mеteor that the sun exhaled
to be to thee this night a torchbearer
and light thee on thy way to mantua
therefore stay yet. thou need’st not to be gone

let me be ta’en; let me be put to death
i am content, so thou wilt have it so
i’ll say yon gray is not the morning’s eye;
’tis but the pale reflex of cynthia’s brow
nor that is not the lark whose notes do beat
the vaulty heaven so high above our heads
i have more care to stay than will to go
come death and welcome. juliet wills it so
how is ’t, my soul? let’s talk. it is not day
it is, it is. hie hence, begone, away!
it is the lark that sings so out of tune
straining harsh discords and unpleasing sharps
some say the lark makes sweet division
this doth not so, for she divideth us
some say the lark and loathèd toad changed eyes
o, now i would they had changed voices too
since arm from arm that voice doth us affray
hunting thee hence with hunt’s~up to the day
o, now begone. more light and light it grows
more light and light, more dark and dark our woes

o god, i have an ill~divining soul!
methinks i see thee, now thou art so low
as one dead in the bottom of a tomb
either my eyesight fails or thou lookest pale

and trust me, love, in my eye so do you
dry sorrow drinks our blood. adieu, adieu


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