She With Whom Compar'd The Alpes Are Vallies Lyrics

Song	She With Whom Compar'd The Alpes Are Vallies
Artist	:Of The Wand & The Moon:
Album	Nighttime Nightrhymes
Download	Image LRC TXT

	作曲 : Kim Larsen
	I wish to fire the trees af all these forrest
	I give the
	Sunne a last farewell each evening
	I curse the fidling finders out of
	Musicke With envie i doo hate the loftie mountains
	And with despite despise the humble vallies
	I doo detest night, evening, day, and morning
	For she, whose parts maintainde a perfect musique
	Whose beawties shin'de more then the blushing morning
	Who much did passe in state the stately mountains
	In straightnes past the
	Cedars of the forest
	Hath cast me wretch into eternally evening
	By taking her two
	Sunnes from these darke vallies
	Curse to my selfe my prayers is, the morning
	My fire is more, then can be made with forrests
	My state more base, then are the basest vallies
	I wish no evenings more to see, each evening
	Shamed I hate my selfe in sight of mountaines
	And stoppe mine ears, lest
	I growe mad with
	Musicke For she, with whorm compar'd, the
	Alpes are vallies
	She, whose lest word brings from the spheares their musique
	At whose approach the
	Sunne rase in the evening
	Who, where she went, bare in her forhead morning
	Is gone, is gone from these our spolyed forrests
	Turning to desarts our best pastur'de mountaines [Adapted from Sir Philip Sidneys: "The Countesse of pembrokes arcadia (1598)"]

	zuo qu : Kim Larsen
	I wish to fire the trees af all these forrest
	I give the
	Sunne a last farewell each evening
	I curse the fidling finders out of
	Musicke With envie i doo hate the loftie mountains
	And with despite despise the humble vallies
	I doo detest night, evening, day, and morning
	For she, whose parts maintainde a perfect musique
	Whose beawties shin' de more then the blushing morning
	Who much did passe in state the stately mountains
	In straightnes past the
	Cedars of the forest
	Hath cast me wretch into eternally evening
	By taking her two
	Sunnes from these darke vallies
	Curse to my selfe my prayers is, the morning
	My fire is more, then can be made with forrests
	My state more base, then are the basest vallies
	I wish no evenings more to see, each evening
	Shamed I hate my selfe in sight of mountaines
	And stoppe mine ears, lest
	I growe mad with
	Musicke For she, with whorm compar' d, the
	Alpes are vallies
	She, whose lest word brings from the spheares their musique
	At whose approach the
	Sunne rase in the evening
	Who, where she went, bare in her forhead morning
	Is gone, is gone from these our spolyed forrests
	Turning to desarts our best pastur' de mountaines Adapted from Sir Philip Sidneys: " The Countesse of pembrokes arcadia 1598"

	zuò qǔ : Kim Larsen
	I wish to fire the trees af all these forrest
	I give the
	Sunne a last farewell each evening
	I curse the fidling finders out of
	Musicke With envie i doo hate the loftie mountains
	And with despite despise the humble vallies
	I doo detest night, evening, day, and morning
	For she, whose parts maintainde a perfect musique
	Whose beawties shin' de more then the blushing morning
	Who much did passe in state the stately mountains
	In straightnes past the
	Cedars of the forest
	Hath cast me wretch into eternally evening
	By taking her two
	Sunnes from these darke vallies
	Curse to my selfe my prayers is, the morning
	My fire is more, then can be made with forrests
	My state more base, then are the basest vallies
	I wish no evenings more to see, each evening
	Shamed I hate my selfe in sight of mountaines
	And stoppe mine ears, lest
	I growe mad with
	Musicke For she, with whorm compar' d, the
	Alpes are vallies
	She, whose lest word brings from the spheares their musique
	At whose approach the
	Sunne rase in the evening
	Who, where she went, bare in her forhead morning
	Is gone, is gone from these our spolyed forrests
	Turning to desarts our best pastur' de mountaines Adapted from Sir Philip Sidneys: " The Countesse of pembrokes arcadia 1598"

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