Lenten is come with love to toune
With blossom and with briddés roune?
That all this bliss bringeth.
Dayés eyes in the dales
Notés sweet of nightingales
Each fowl song singeth.
The threstlecock him threateth oo,
Away is now their winter woe
When woodruff newly springeth,
This fowles singeth ferly fele
They look no more on Winter weal
And all the woodé ringeth.

The rose prepareth her array,
The leaves on the tender spray
Waxen all with will.
The moon sends forth her sheen,
The lily's lovesome to be seen,
The fennel and the fille.
They court their mates the wilde drakes,
Each pair of creatures merry makes
As stream that striketh still.
Moody men moan, so also I,
Who am by love shot through
For love doth like me ill.
The moon sends forth her light
So doth the seemly sonne bright
When briddes singeth breme.
Dewes moisten now the downs,
Beasts come forth with secret rounes
Domes for to deem.
Wormes woweth under cloude,
Women waxeth wounder-proud
So well it now them seme.
If I shall long for one of them
Such wealth of gladness I forego—
I will in woods be fleme.