A Ballerinas Story - Lamentation For A Lost Life

A Ballerinas Story(2015) Max Richter Lamentation For a Lost Life(2017)
No lyrics Instrumental
"Another Song" An Collins (1653)
The Winter of my infancy being over past when supposed suddenly the spring would hast
which useth everything to cheare
Which invitation to recreation
This time of yeare ,
The Sun sends fourth his radiient beames to warm the ground
The drops distil ,between the gleams delight abound
Ver brings her mate the flowery Queen
The groves shee dresses her art expresses
On every green
But in my spring it was not so
But contrary for no delightfull flowers grew to please the eye no hopefull bud nor fruitfull bough
No modrate showers which cause flowers to spring and grow
My April was exceedingly dry
Therefore unkind
Whence tis that small utility
I look to find fro when theat April is so dry as hath been spoken it doth betoken much scarcity
Thus is my spring now almost past in heavinesse
The sky of pleasure's ove-cast with sad distress
For by a comfortless eclipse disconsolacion and sore vexacion my blossom nips
Yet as a garden is my mind enclosed
Fast being to safety so confined from storm and blast apt to produce a fruit most rare that is not common wth every woman that fruitfull are
A love of goodness is the chiefest plant therin the second is (for to be briefe ) dislike to sin
These grow in spight of misery
Which grace doth nourish and ease to flourish
continually
But evil mocions corrupt seeds fall here also
When (c)e spring prophanesse
as do weeds where flowers grow
Which must be supplanted with speed
These weeds of error distrust and terror
Lest woe succeed
So shall they not molest the plants before exprest
Which countervail these outwards wants
& purchase rest
Which more commodious is for me
Then outward pleasures or earthly treasures
enjoyd would be
My little hopes of worldly gain
I fret not at as yet I do this hope retain
Through spring be late perhaps my summer age may be
Not prejudicial but beneficial enough for me
Admit the worst it be not so but stormy too
Ille learn my selfe to undergo more than I doe
and still content my selfe with this
sweet medication and contemplacion
of heavenly bliss
Which for saints reserved is who preserve
In Piety and Holynesse and godly feare
The pleasures of which of which bliss divine
Neither Logician
nor Rhetorician ....