Classic Poem

In a herber green, asleep whereas I lay,
The birds sang sweet in the middes of the day;
I dreamed fast of mirth and play,
In youth is pleasure, in youth is pleasure.

Methought as I walked still to and fro,
And from her company I could not go;
But when I waked it was not so,
In youth is pleasure, in youth is pleasure.

Therefore my heart is surely pight
Of her alone to have a sight,
Which is my joy and heart's delight:
In youth is pleasure, in youth is pleasure.

Why should not youth fulfill his own mind,
As the course of nature doth him bind?
Is not everything ordained to do his kind?
Report me to you, report me to you.

Do not the flowers spring fresh and gay,
Pleasant and sweet in the month of May?
And when their time cometh, they fade away.
Report me to you, report me to you.

Be not the trees in winter bare?
Like unto their kind, such they are;
And when they spring, their fruits declare.
Report me to you, report me to you.

What should youth do with the fruits of age,
But live in pleasure in his passage,
For when time cometh, his lusts will swage.
Report me to you, report me to you.