Daysong

Lovingly lay
A gallant knight and fain
In the arms of a lady. The light of dawn he spied,
As, shining in the distance, through the clouds it broke.
In grief the lady spoke,
"Now out upon thee, day,
That wilt not let me longer by my lover bide!
What men call love is nothing but grief and wasting pain."

"Mistress mine, let be
To sorrow and lament!
Since for us twain 'tis needful, from thee I will part.
Now hath the star of morning made all the chamber light."
"Nay, do not so, dear knight!
Speak no such word to me,
Lest thou too sorely trouble and distress my heart.
Where wilt thou haste so quickly? That brings me small content."

"Lady, so let it be!
Awhile yet will I stay.
Now speak and tell me briefly all thy heart's desire,
That we outwit the watchers even as before!"
"Dear love, my heart is sore:
Ere once again with thee
I lie, needs must I suffer pangs of sorrow dire.
Now bide not too long absent! 'Tis for that I pray."

"That can ne'er be so,
Unless I lack the might.
If from thee I should tarry even from noon to noon,
Yet doth my heart, dear lady, stay beside thee still."
"Now hearken to my will!
Dear love, if thou shalt show
True to me and constant, thou shalt see me soon.
Ah, now I mark the daybreak! Sorrow on the sight!"

"Since I must take my leave,
What solace is for this,
Dear lady, in bright blossoms? They are hateful in my sight,
Even as to birds chill winter bringeth discontent."
"Love, likewise I lament,
And never cease to grieve.
How may I live without thee? I know not that aright.
Bide but a little longer! Ne'er have I felt such bliss."

"Lady, I may not rest.
Give me thy leave to fare!
'Tis to preserve thy honour that I would quit thee now.
So loudly hath the warder his song of day begun."
"Love, what may be done?
I yield to thy behest;
Alack, the leave thou cravest I must needs allow,
Now may my soul's Creator keep thee in His care!"

The knight went on his way
In grief and sore distress,
And left the lady weeping woeful and forlorn,
Yet for her love's enjoyment he served her faithfully.
"Whoso is wont," said she,
"To sing the song of day,
Will sorely vex my spirit at the break of morn,
Now here alone I languish sad and loverless!"