Of Joys And Pleasing Pains / My Throat Is Sore

Of joys and pleasing pains I late went singing -
O joys with pains! O pains with joys consenting! -
and little thought as then of now repenting,
but now think of my then sweet bitter stinging.
All day long I my hands, alas, go wringing,
the baleful notes of which, my sad tormenting,
are ruth and moan, frights, sobs, and loud lamenting,
from hills and dales, in my dull ears still ringing.

My throat is sore, my voice is hoarse with skriking      
my rests are sighs, deep from the heart-root fetched.
My song runs all on sharps and, with oft striking
time on my breast, I shrink with hands outstretched.
Thus still and still I sing and ne'er am linning,     
for still the close points to my first beginning.