Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, SPRING SONG, by JEAN ANTOINE DE BAIF



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SPRING SONG, by            
First Line: Idle winter's colde
Last Line: With the season's whim?
Subject(s): Seasons; Spring


IDLE Winter's colde
Nowe at last is spent;
Blithesome Sprynge beholde
Full of ravishment.

Earth is fledged with greene
Full of buds aswaye;
Leafage maykes a screene
In the woodlande waye.

Lighte of foot, the girl,
She no slug-a-bed,
Ere the rose unfurl,
Plucks its drowsy head;

Soe she comelier seeme
With the bud on breast,
Or the rose she deem
For her lover best,

In his hande toe tayke
As a pledge of troth,
And with kissynge slake
Love that's never loth.

Listen from the pale,
Shepherd's pipe that shrill
Makes the nightyngale
Sweeter sorrowe spill.

See the waves that flowe
Crispéd in the brooks,
Trees with greene aglowe
In their glassy looks.

Nowe the sea is soft,
Stay'd and smooth the wind
Makes the sailes to waft
Vessels untoe Ind.

Nowe have all birdes sweet
Song with voices suave,
Larks above the wheat
Swannes upon the wave;

Swallowes round the roof,
Nightyngales that nest
In the woods aloof,
Synge nor ever rest.

Sorrowe and content
Of my love I'll synge,
An his flame be spent
Or still wantonynge.

Why then should I quell
Songs that over-brim
When all thynges up-well
With the season's whim?





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