Mad Song - Mediaeval Baebes

The wild winds weep

And the night is a-cold;

Come hither, Sleep

And my griefs infold:

But lo!

the morning peeps

Over the eastern steeps

And the rustling birds of dawn

The earth do scorn

Lo!

to the vault

Of paved heaven

With sorrow fraught

My notes are driven:

They strike the ear of night

Make weep the eyes of day;

They make mad the roaring winds

And with tempests play

Like a fiend in a cloud

With howling woe

After night I do crowd

And with night will go;

I turn my back to the east

From whence comforts have increas’d;

For light doth seize my brain

With frantic pain