O Westron Wynde

Delving but a little into the subject of "Tudor composers" for my morning wake-up Google, I discovered the amazing and arresting fact that this lovely quatrain,

                 O Westron wynde, when wilt thou blow,
                  That the small raine down can rain?
                  Chryst, if my love were in my armes,

                  And I in my bedde again!

was madly popular in the early 16th century, just as it is (or was), with no additions, extensions, or dip-shit, inept and superfluous follow-up verses, [such as Roger Jackson (whoever the hell he is) tacked on as recently as this very year 2014 of the Common Era; which I will not quote, because they sicken, annoy and disgust me, as well as bastardize, vulgarize and, like a bad fart, inflate and needlessly particularize the gender of "love," while informing the Whole Wide World (in the creepily, anxiously exhibitionist manner of a heterosexual who has been alarmed and threatened by gender-ambiguity, and which makes one fundamentally doubt his sincerity--and his heterosexuality, if it comes to that) that he "does love her so." 

Anyway, this sweet, and poignant and brief little poem--which on first hearing smites anyone who knows English, gay or straight, with an unappeasable ache in the genitals, in the heart and in the throat--was used, respectfully, entire but unamplified, by three different early 15th century English composers (John Taverner, Christopher Tye, and John Sheppard) as cantus firmus for their respective masses.  

How very different the thought and mindset of the jolly French 'Homme Armé' from the bittersweet, melancholic English 'Westron Wynde'!