When Flora fair the pleasant tidings bringeth

When Flora fair the pleasant tidings bringeth
Of summer sweet with herbs and flowers adorned,
The nightingale upon the hawthorn singeth
And Boreas' blasts the birds and beasts have scorned;
When fresh Aurora with her colours painted,
Mingled with spears of gold, the sun appearing,
Delights the hearts that are with love acquainted,
And maying maids have then their time of cheering;
All creatures then with summer are delighted,
The beasts, the birds, the fish with scale of silver;
Then stately dames by lovers are invited
To walk in meads or row upon the river.
I all alone am from these joys exiled,
No summer grows where love yet never smiled.