Reponse
When Phyllis sighs and from her eyesThe light dies out; my soul repliesWith misery of deep-drawn breath,E’en as it were at war with death.
When Phyllis smiles, her glance beguilesMy heart through love-lit woodland aisles,And through the silence high and clear,A wooing warbler’s song I hear.
But if she frown, despair comes down,I put me on my sack-cloth gown;So frown not, Phyllis, lest I die,But look on me with smile or sigh.