LENT is come with Love to town, With blossom, and with birdling's rune, That all gladness bringeth -- Daisies blow on down and dale, Sweetly trills the nightingale, Each her glad song singeth. The Throstle-cock doth loudly cry, Past is winter's misery When the woodruff springeth; Yea, so glad the birdlings be When they Winter's waning see, That the woodland ringeth! Now the rose is clad in red; On the light twigs overhead Leaves unfold at will; And the moon doth shew her light, Fair the lily blossoms white, The fennel by the rill. Wooing, preens himself the drake; Man and maid, they merry make Where the stream runs still. But the sad, he moaneth aye, I be one of those to-day, Love doth like me ill! Now the moon sends forth her light, As the seemly sunbeams bright When the birds sing gay; Dank, the dew on down it lies; Lovers in their secret wise Speak their Yea, or Nay. 'Neath the clod the worm doth woo, And the maidens proudly go, Fair to see are they! If I lack the love of one Of this joy will I have none But will, outlawed, stray! |