The Sunne Rising

Album cover art for "The Sunne Rising" by Anthony Quayle

Anthony Quayle - Pop

The Sunne Rising

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Duration: 1:49

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Lyrics

Busy old fool, unruly sun Why dost thou thus Through windows, and through curtains call on us? Must to thy motions lovers' seasons run? Saucy pedantic wretch, go chide Late school boys and sour prentices Go tell court huntsmen that the king will ride Call country ants to harvest offices Love, all alike, no season knows nor clime Nor hours, days, months, which are the rags of time Thy beams, so reverend and strong Why shouldst thou think? I could eclipse and cloud them with a wink But that I would not lose her sight so long; If her eyes have not blinded thine Look, and tomorrow late, tell me Whether both th' Indias of spice and mine Be where thou leftst them, or lie here with me Ask for those kings whom thou saw'st yesterday And thou shalt hear, All here in one bed lay She's all states, and all princes, I Nothing else is Princes do but play us; compared to this All honor's mimic, all wealth alchemy Thou, sun, art half as happy as we In that the world's contracted thus Thine age asks ease, and since thy duties be To warm the world, that's done in warming us Shine here to us, and thou art everywhere; This bed thy center is, these walls, thy sphere

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Credits

Writers
  • John Donne