The Singing Maid

Now springes the spray,
All for love I am so seek
That slepen I ne may.

Als I me rode this endre day
O' my pleyinge,
Seih I whar a litel may
Began to singe,
" The clot him clinge!
Way es him i' love-longinge
Shall libben ay!"

Son I herde that mirye note,
Thider I drogh:
I fonde hire in an herber swot
Under a bogh,
With joye inogh.
Son I asked, " Thou mirye may,
Why singes tou ay?"

Than answerde that maiden swote
Midde wordes lewe,
My lemman me traves bihot
Of love trewe:
He chaunges anewe.
Yrit I may, it shall him rewe
Rate this poem: 


No reviews yet.