Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, BALLADE OF SPRYNGE-TYME, by CHRISTINE DE PISAN


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

BALLADE OF SPRYNGE-TYME, by                    
First Line: Nowe cometh the soe gracious month of maye
Last Line: For the faire boone this merrye month doth brynge.
Alternate Author Name(s): Christine De Pisan
Subject(s): Love - Complaints; Spring


NOWE cometh the soe gracious month of Maye
That is ryghte gladsome, she that doth bestowe
Such sweetnesse; nowe be fields and woods growne gaye
With leaves and floures that doe blithelye blowe.
In all thynges joye hath swaye.
Nowe greene the meadowe is and eke the spraye,
And all thynges nowe forswear their sorrowynge
For the faire boone this merrye month doth brynge.

The birds goe singynge a glad roundelaye,
And all thynges the like happinesse doe knowe;
But woe is me that suffer such dismaye,
For wanderynge love begetteth onlye woe;
Nowe me joye cannot swaye,
Who growe in sorrowe as tyme groweth gaye.
Lovers well knowe how sharper grief can stynge
For the faire boone this merrye month doth brynge.

Nowe doe I weep, lamentynge nighte and daye
Him whom I lack, and who doth nought bestowe;
Nowe Love's worst onset that comes nigh to slaye,
His feints and torments I doe sadlye knowe.
In this sweet tyme alwaye
I have noe joye who am despoiléd aye
Of that desire wherto soe firm I clynge
For the faire boone this merrye month doth brynge.





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