Absence in Spring

What boots it me to see this verdure fair
That laughs along the fields — to hear the call
Of birdlings, and the purling waterfall,
And Spring-time winds that woo the murmurous air,

When she that woundeth me, yet, hath no care
Of how my pains increase, comes not at all
And hides the brightness of her eyes withal,
Twin stars, that fed my heart with heavenly fare.

I had far rather keep old Winter's cold;
For Winter doth less aptly aid Love's charms
Than Spring-time months, that are Love's Summoners

Yet make me hate myself, who cannot hold
In this fair month of April in my arms
Her who doth hold my life and death in hers.