My True Lover Told Me Poem by Samuel Bamford

My true-lover told me, when he went away,
(For hard fortune did part us in twain),
He would pour his complaints to the moon's silver ray,
When it gilded the wide tented plain.
Then, rise up, O moon! he will whisper to thee,
And thou wilt convey my love's sorrows to me.

Methinks, when I hear the wild winds whistle by,
Comes mingled my love's mourning strain;
That they bring from afar a sweet kiss or a sigh,
As slowly they sweep o'er the plain.
Blow softly, ye gales, if ye faithful would prove,
And bring me a kiss or a sigh from my love.