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The for|ward vi|olet / thus did | I chide,
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Sweet^thief | whence^didst | thou steal | thy
sweet | that smells ??
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If not | from my / love's breath,| the pur|ple
pride,
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Which on | thy soft | cheek for | complex|ion
dwells?
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In my / love's veins | thou hast | too gros|sly
dyed.
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The li|ly I | condem|ned for | thy hand,
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And buds | of mar|joram | had stolen | thy hair,
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The ros|es fear|fully | on thorns | did stand,
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One^blush|ing shame,| anoth|er white | despair:
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A third | nor red,| nor white,| had stolen | of both,
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And to | his rob|bery had | annexed | thy breath,
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But for | his theft | in pride | of all | his
growth
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A venge|ful cank|er eat | him up | to death.
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More flowers | I not|ed, yet | I none | could
see,
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But sweet,| or col|or it | had stolen | from thee.