Read by Charles Bryant
i. I know that all beneath the moon decays
ii. Fair is my yoke though grievous be my pains
iii. How that vast heaven, entitled First, is rolled
iv. Sleep, silence' child, sweet father of soft rest
v. The heaven doth not contain so many stars
vi. What hapless hap had I for to be born
vii. Look how the flower which lingeringly doth fade
viii. Of this fair volume which we world do name
ix. On Death, from 'A Cypress Grove'
x. Then is she gone? Oh fool and coward I
xi. Dear quirister, who from those shadows sends
xii. Sound hoarse, sad lute, true witness of my woe
xiii. Dear wood, and you, sweet solitary place
xiv. Thou window, once which served for a sphere
3 июл 2012
