Mad Song en Mediaeval Baebes

The wild winds weep
And the night is a-cold;
Come hither, Sleep,
Let my griefs infold thee
Morning peeps Over the eastern steeps,
And the rustling birds of dawn
earth they do scorn.

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 I will go;
Turn my back to the east,
From whence comforts have increas'd;
Light doth seize my brain
With frantic pain.

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 I will go;
Turn my back to the east,
From whence comforts have increas'd;
Light doth seize my brain
With frantic pain.

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.